Overshadowed
by shivaun18
Summary: Grace Ritchi is Roxanne Ritchi's younger sister, and she's almost used to seeing Roxanne take everything she wants. But that was before Roxanne set her sights on a certain museum curator. Bernard/OC
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything except Grace.**

* * *

_All my life I've been forced to stand in my older sister's shadow._

_I've lost countless friends, crushes, and – though it might sound childish – attention to her. My sister is one of those dazzling types that you just find yourself drawn to. So friends? The few I've made dropped me like a hot potato as soon as they meet her. She's only two years my senior, it doesn't matter to them. Boys? They don't see me in the first place. They only see her; her bright, perfect smile; her slim, curvy figure; and her large, doe-like eyes._

_And attention? Oh, don't get me started. She's my parent's 'golden child', the apple of their eyes. She can do no wrong. I just...fade away when she's there. A slightly awkward, just-passing student doesn't stand a chance against a beautiful, straight-A student. Even her job took everyone's attention! _

_A news reporter. _

_She became a news reporter._

_Gag me with a spoon._

_Don't get me wrong, I love my sister. She's nice and funny and looks after me. But there's something about her that just...irritates me. My uncle, the closest thing I have to a friend, calls it a petty, teenage sibling rivalry that I never grew out of. Maybe he's right._

_But in my whole life, there's one thing that she stole that actually mattered to me._

_His name's Bernard Green, and he is – _was_ – a museum curator at the museum across from the place I work._

_My name is Grace Ritchi._

_And this is my story._

* * *

When you live with someone like Roxanne for long enough, you begin to recognize signs that they're there before you even see them.

Adoring stares from men – old and young?

Check.

Admiring whispers from middle-aged women?

Check.

Distracted staff, glancing around every so often to see if she's there?

Check.

And finally, jealous and reluctantly respectful mutters from teenage girls and young women?

Double check.

"Grace!" Roxanne cries as soon as she sees me, rushing up to me and throwing her arms around me in a hug. Did a camera just go off? She's that famous?

"Hi, Roxanne," I say with a forced smile, trying to pry her off of me. She smells, like always, of cotton candy and bubblegum. Not an unpleasant smell. If you don't link it to years of neglect.

"How was your flight?" Roxanne asks me with that perfect, million dollar smile that our parents bought. She makes a gesture and a chubby boy with unruly red hair rushes to push my trolley for me.

"It was okay," I say, twisting my mouth in what I hope is a smile. "Um...thank you for letting me stay with you."

Roxanne throws her head back in a laugh and I see the chubby boy look at her longingly. "Oh, don't mention it! I know how mom and dad get about grades."

Bet you don't. When have you ever gotten something other than an A?

"Yeah..." I mutter awkwardly, fiddling with the strap of my backpack. See, the only reason I've been flown out across the country to live with my _darling_ older sister is because my parents don't find my continuous failings at college amusing. It's not that I'm dumb. I love reading. Mainly history and mythology. But the subjects at school don't really hold any relevance to what I like to read. Maths? English? Chemistry? What history book teaches _those_?

We reach Roxanne's news van and I struggle to help the chubby boy load my suitcases into it. Roxanne smiles knowingly at me at the resounding thud it sends out when it drops into the van.

"Books?"

I don't answer. I don't have to.

Roxanne laughs. "You have not changed one _bit_, Grace."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" I joke half-heartedly as I climb into the van. Roxanne follows me and soon the van is tearing out of the car park.

* * *

"So how's life?" Roxanne asks me pleasantly, sitting on my bed with her legs crossed and watching me unpack. "Made any new friends?"

"Oh, yes," I say unenthusiastically. "Their names are Zeus and Tutankhamun. They're great friends. So loyal and trustworthy. Not very big talkers though."

Roxanne laughs, not at all offended by my sulky manner. "I'm serious! What about boys?"

"What about them?"

"Have you met anyone?" Roxanne elaborates. "What about Fred? He was nice; I remember you took a liking to him."

"Oh, you mean the one who breached security at the airport and caused your plane to be delayed for four hours...just so he could say goodbye to you?" I ask. Roxanne frowns.

"That was him? Well, oops...Tom?"

"Head of your fan club at college now," I say sourly.

"Jake?" Sheesh, she doesn't give up, does she?

"He in hospital because he attempted suicide after you left." What a morbid, morbid thought. "Look, I know you mean well, but most of the guys in my life are in love with _you_. So drop it."

Roxanne looks hurt. Oh I'm sorry, did I hurt your pretty little feelings? Get over it. "I'm sorry, Grace, I just wanted to catch up with my little sister."

"Well thanks for the sentiment, but there's really nothing to catch up _on_," I say as kindly as I possibly can while glaring at her. "Now...the bathroom?"

"You have your own en suite," Roxanne says a little frostily. I think she's beginning to regret letting me stay here for God knows how long. She points to behind me. "In there."

I turn around and open the immaculately painted door. Inside is a clean, pristine bathroom. That's _carpeted_. Like what? Who carpets a bathroom?

"Thanks, Roxie," I tell her as sincerely as possible, trying to smile at her. I guess she sees the amount of effort I put in, because the corner of her lips twitch. She rises up and heads to the door.

"I'll go order lunch. What do you feel like?"

"Thai."

She looks surprised. "I didn't know you liked Thai food."

There's a lot about me that she doesn't know, evidently.

I turn around as a dismissal and continue unpacking. As soon as the door clicks shut, I abandon my unpacking and dig out a book on Ancient Greece. It's thick and worn, and smells like dust. I've had it for what seems like forever. It's so old that some of the information is kind of outdated, but I don't mind.

I crawl onto the double bed and crack it open slowly, smiling at the musty pages. I sigh and wriggle a little on the comfortable sheets. Roxanne might be...Roxanne, but she's got good tastes. And expensive. Must've gotten that from our CEO parents.

My gaze falls on some of the framed pictures Roxanne has on the wall. More than half of them are of her and I. They date all the way back to when I was just born, all the way until just before Roxanne left.

Oh Roxie.

Why do you make it so hard for me to hate you?

* * *

**So...this is a short chapter. The others will be longer. By the way, some people may find Roxanne a bit OOC in regards to her attitude towards Grace's snippiness, but I like to think she's a softie when it comes to her family :) Review please ^^**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything except Grace.**

* * *

"So mom says that she wants you to find a job," Roxanne says conversationally as I help her clear the table. I make a non-committal noise. "I told her that I knew someone who works at a museum; that you could get a job there-"

My heart nearly stops at that. A job at a museum would be the most perfect job _ever_. I don't care if I have to work minimum wage, a job at the museum would be worth it.

"-but she said that you'd enjoy yourself and then there'd be no point to sending you out here," Roxanne continues. What was that? Oh nothing, just my _heart flopping on the floor, you heartless hag._ Okay, to be fair, it's not Roxanne's fault that our mother is evil. But _still_. Did she have to raise my hopes like that?

"Sure sounds like her," I mutter, frowning in irritation. Roxanne stops and leans against the counter.

"Listen, Grace, just so you know, I agree with mom. I mean, it sounds heartless, but maybe a little bit of experiencing the real world would do you some good. I mean, I worked at a farm when I was in college. Not the most glamorous job, but I turned out fine, didn't I?"

"Bah, humbug," is all I say as I shove a container of leftovers into the fridge.

"You're going to love Metro City, Grace." My sister smiles. Her stupid, pretty smile. "There's a superhero here named Metro Man, he's so brave."

"That's fascinating," I say, not really caring about or believing it. "A superhero. Named Metro Man. I'll be sure to holler at him if I ever see him."

Roxanne frowns at me. "You know, it wouldn't kill you to be grateful about coming here. I mean, my apartment might not be a five star hotel-" Au Contraire. You've obviously put your news reporter earnings to good use. "-but it's better than sleeping on the streets."

I sigh and nod. "I'm sorry, Roxie. I just...miss home." A lie, but it gets her off my back. Her face softens.

"I know. Me too. Don't worry, it gets better. Metro City has so much to offer. Especially the museums. I can drop you off at one before I go to work one day, if you like."

"I can't walk there?" I ask, frowning. Roxanne laughs.

"Not likely! I suppose you could take the bus, but it's too far for walking."

It's never too far to walk to a museum.

...God I'm a nerd.

"Well that sounds..." I struggle with the words. "Nice. Thank you, Roxanne."

Roxanne looks a little forlorn at my formality. "It's okay, Grace. What would you like to do for the rest of the day?"

"Don't you have work?" I ask, looking for a way out. Roxanne shakes her head, giving me a sunny smile.

"No, I took the day off so I could spend time with you!"

"Well..." I hesitate, not seeing a way out. I return Roxanne's sunny smile, matching her watt for watt. "That sounds great, Roxie! Let's...um...let's go to...the mall! Yes, let's go to the mall!"

Roxanne looks happy. "Okay! I've been needing to buy makeup anyway."

I laugh. "Sounds great!"

Oh god.

This is going to be hell.

* * *

"I don't know why you don't put in more effort into your looks, Grace," Roxanne complains, eyeing me critically as we walk through the mall. "I mean, I'm not one of those Barbie girls who cake on makeup, but you'd look so _beautiful_ if you put even a touch of lip gloss or mascara."

"I always eat my lip gloss off," I answer. "Or my hair gets stuck in it when the wind blows. And mascara makes my eyelashes clump together."

"Okay, maybe not that," Roxanne concedes. "But your clothes would be a good place to start!"

I look at myself. "What's wrong with them?"

"How old are those jeans?" Roxanne accuses. "They look like hand me downs."

"What's your point?" I ask. Okay, so my jeans might have a hole – or five – in them. And maybe old jeans might not be best paired with a shirt that looks like it came from the donation box at a church. But hey, like Kahlil Gibran said: 'Beauty is not in the face; beauty is a light in the heart'.

Oh god, NERD!

Roxanne sighs heavily. "Oh, Grace. Won't you let your wise old sister give you a makeover?"

"When hell freezes over," I say flatly. "Just because _you're_ girly doesn't mean I have to be too."

"I'm not girly!" Roxanne protests, but her designer dress and black platform heels tell a different story. "Okay, maybe I am. But it suits me!"

"I never said it didn't," I reply. "It just doesn't suit _me_."

"Of course it does!" Roxanne argues heatedly, spinning me into a clothes shop. She plucks a frilly white dress off the clothes rack and holds it to me. "See look! Beautiful!"

I look in the mirror. "I look like a little kid dressing up."

See, I can't _wear_ girly clothes like Roxanne can. Roxanne is all curves and sex appeal. Whereas I'm just...gawky.

Roxanne takes another look at me. "Okay, maybe this isn't the best dress. But girly can work on you! It can work on anyone!"

I take the dress from my sister and hang it back. "Except me."

"It _will _work!" Roxanne argues, but I can tell her sureness is decreasing by the second. "It has to. It'll just be...a different type of girly."

I sigh, feeling a headache coming on. "That doesn't even make any sense, Roxie. Are we done here? The sales assistant is staring at us." More like at her, but she doesn't need to know that.

Roxie nods reluctantly. "Okay, where do you wanna go next?"

"You choose," I tell her. "I could possibly pick out of all of these..." boring, clone-like "..._places_."

Roxie laughs at me. Oh look at that, I haven't even been here a day and she's laughing at me. Big surprise. "Well, there is a bookstore. I need to make a phone call, so you go there, okay?"

I sigh and grimace like I really don't like what's she's so cruelly forcing me into, even though I'm jumping for joy on the inside. "_Fine_. Let's go."

Roxanne smirks. She's not fooled one bit. "After you, madam."

* * *

Roxanne doesn't take long to finish her call, but even so I've managed to find four books in the short time she's gone. Roxanne doesn't even bat an eyelid and a swipe of her credit card later; I'm walking out of the store with my book bag clutched to my chest.

"I'm glad you came, Grace," Roxanne tells me with a small smile.

"I'm glad I came too," I reply, half-certain that by the time I leave, I'll mean it.

* * *

That night finds me at the desk in Roxanne's – _my room. It's my room now. God, gotta get used to that _– room. All the books I brought and bought are in five, towering stacks on my desk and one is opened in front of me. I'm reading about the wonders of the Aztecs when I hear the door open and Roxanne enter.

Okay, keep mind that history is like...my baby. I'm deeply absorbed in my book and don't plan on returning to planet Earth anytime soon, so I don't appreciate it when Roxanne waltzes over and starts touching my goddamn _hair_.

I stiffen, glancing warily at her. "What are you doing...?"

"Stop looking at me like I'm a psychopath, Grace, I'm braiding your hair," Roxanne says lightly, and I see the hair ties and bobby pins on her wrist for the first time. I frown.

"Well...it's weird...stop it."

"No," comes her oh-so-mature reply. Christ, she's stubborn. She's probably only going now because I told her to stop it.

"Seriously..." I say slowly. "It's creeping me out. I don't like human contact."

"You lie," Roxanne replies with a smirk. "You just don't like me making you girly."

The thought hadn't even occurred to me, but now that it has, I hate that too. "You're right. So stop."

"If you let me, I'll make you waffles for breakfast," Roxanne bribes.

"Waffles are _your_ favourite breakfast food, not mine," I return flatly, but return to reading anyway because even though it's not my favourite, it still tastes pretty damn good. Roxanne makes a small noise of satisfaction.

I manage to read up to the Aztec's third method of agriculture before Roxanne speaks again.

"Do you really trust me that little not to confide in me?"

My mind blanks for a moment, before I compose my thoughts. "What the hell are you on about?"

"You're so distant," Roxanne says sadly. "I mean, I thought we were close."

I snort. "We were never close."

"Weren't we?" Roxanne asks, looking dejected. "We did everything together."

"Yeah," I say. "Because mom and dad _made_ you. You always complained for like an hour whenever you had to."

Roxanne looks surprised. "Did I?" God she has a terrible memory.

"Yes."

"But you're my sister!" Roxanne presses on. "We should be closer! I mean, we need each other. We're sisters."

This conversation is getting too personal. "Roxanne. I don't _want_ to be closer. Drop it."

"But, Grace-"

"_Drop it._"

Roxanne does, but not happily. She finishes braiding my hair in silence, then leaves as quickly as she came. I wait until I hear her door slam behind her before I get up to look in the mirror. I touch my hair.

She actually did a pretty good job.

* * *

When I wake up, Roxanne is gone. A plate of waffles sits on the table. I stare at it for a while, then drown in it melted butter and syrup, before sticking it in a plastic Ziploc baggie. After changing and brushing my teeth, I head out the door with my waffle baggie in hand.

So where to now?

Well, I could always actually _look_ for a job. Of course, then my mother would win. We can't have that. But she'll win eventually. Hm. What to do, what to do?

I end up in front of a coffee shop a few blocks away. As I go in, I accidentally bump into a young man with glasses and messy brown hair.

"Oh, I'm sorry-"

He doesn't stick around to hear my apology. Prick. Oh well, if I had hair like that I'd be grumpy too. Wait. I do have hair like that. Damn, that's depressing.

After ordering a hot chocolate from an angry looking girl at the counter, I sink into a fluffy armchair and bite into my waffles. It actually doesn't taste that bad. Well, I guess it'd be too much to hope for a flaw in Little Miss Perfect. I stare out the window as I return to my job debate. A job _would_ be a good way to use up the empty hours. And if I get a part time job, it'll be even better.

But on the other hand, I'd have to _work_. I'm too lazy for that.

GIVE ME A SIGN, UNIVERSE!

"You can't fire me, you useless bastard!" the girl at the counter screams at who I presume is her supervisor. "I _quit_!"

Without letting him reply, she storms out of the cafe.

Well that was lucky.

* * *

Despite knowing next to nothing about hot beverages and pleasant tea time snacks, an hour later finds me behind the counter of what I now know is called '_Bean Baby_'. Cute name, I guess.

I wish I could say that my social skills are just so awesome that I landed the job with no experience whatsoever, but who am I kidding? It's probably a combination of the fact that they need a counter girl _now_, and the fact that I am Roxanne Ritchi's sister.

"This will be your co-worker," my supervisor, a scrawny man named Richard, introduces as he holds out a hand at a boy around my age with smooth dark skin and darker eyes. The boy is really, really tall. Seriously. Not even kidding. He literally towers over me. "His name's Keith, and he prepares the foods and drinks."

Keith tips his head at me in acknowledgement, but doesn't take his focus away from the blender in front of him. Distantly I hear the chime of a bell as the door opens.

"Oh look, your first customer!" Richard says in a voice too cheerful to be legit. "Come on, let's see how you go."

I wonder if this is a bad time to mention that my social skills with strangers (or anyone, come to think of it) is virtually nonexistent?

I look up. My first customer is the young man with glasses and messy hair from this morning.

Wait, what?


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything except Grace.**

**

* * *

**

"Extra large double strength espresso," the young man orders, eyes glued to the menu the entire time. I blink at him.

"Weren't you here this morning?"

"Weren't you a customer this morning?" he returns without missing a beat, gaze not wavering from the menu. "Extra large double strength espresso."

"Why are you here again?" I press on. His gaze remains on the menu, but the slightest hint of irritation flickers in his eyes.

"I need coffee. Specifically an extra large double strength espresso."

I hear Richard let out a muffled groan from behind me and I'm startled back into my counter girl mode. "Oh, right! That'll be-" He shoves a handful of money at me. It's the exact amount. "Oh, um, okay. Keith-" Keith shoves over the order. "Geez, fine then." Are all males this rude or am I just really unlucky?

Finally the order actually catches up with me. "Wait, an extra large double strength espresso?"

"That's what I said," he says slowly, giving me an 'are you retarded or just an idiot?' look that I am unfortunately accustomed to. "Three times."

"That's a lot of caffeine!" I say, blinking in astonishment. He shrugs and takes the espresso from me.

"I work at a museum, I need it for those late nights."

Oh look, he said the magic words.

"_You work at a museum_?" I shriek excitedly, eyes wide. Several customers look over but I pay no mind. "That's so cool! What do you do? Where do you work? Do you like history? What's your favourite history topic? I like most history topics – they're all so _fascinating_ –but if I had to choose it would be either Ancient Greece or Ancient Egypt-"

"You talk too much," he interrupts me. I splutter indignantly for a little while. Not that he notices. He turns around and leaves, sipping at his drink and not even flinching at what I always thought was a bitter, disgusting taste. The door swings shut and I finally realise my behaviour.

"Idiot!" I yelp, smacking my head. "'They're all so fascinating'? What are you, an eighty year old professor? Stupid, stupid, stupid!" I punctuate each 'stupid' by slamming my head on the counter. "STUPID!"

Keith laughs from where he's watching me. "_Smooth_."

Suddenly I remember that I'm still on trial. "Oh, _shi_- I mean, snap!" I turn to Richard. "Sorry! Can I have a do-over?"

Richard sighs wearily but nods. "Last chance. If you can't get this one right, then it's bye-bye job."

I nod frantically. "I'll be good! I promise!"

Fortunately the next person who walks in is not a young man with glasses and messy brown hair and works in a museum, so I pay attention to their order and relay it to Keith, who slides it over to me with a slight smirk.

"Do I pass?" I ask Richard, who thinks about it.

I pass.

* * *

Roxanne nearly dies of laughter when she hears where I'm working. "_You're working at a coffee shop_? You can't cook toast!"

"Yes I can!" I argue feebly, then remember the last time I tried and grimace. "Okay, maybe I can't. Not the point. I'm not cooking, I'm just working the register."

"Well maybe everyone's cooking skills will rub off on you," Roxanne jokes. "Then you can pitch in with the cooking."

Not likely. "And maybe Memo Man will declare his undying love for me while I'm at it."

"Metro Man," Roxanne corrects, but she's still chuckling to herself. Forget this, I'm going to my room.

Once in my room, I pull out a book on Chinese mythology and flop onto the bed. But despite the fact that it's one of my favourite topics, I just can't get into it. My mind is still stuck on the guy from the coffee shop. I mean, it shouldn't be. He was really rude to me. Then again, I might have been asking for it. I did completely ignore his order. And I _am _just the counter girl.

I groan and flip onto my stomach. Not even! God, I _hate_ when I get fixated on someone who doesn't even care about me. It happens enough. With that depressing little thought in mind, I shove any thoughts of the coffee shop guy out of my mind and force myself to concentrate on my book.

* * *

"So are you always prone to spazzing out when someone mentions museums?" Keith inquires casually, watching me as I take a family of four's order.

"Shut up," I say almost automatically. "Get me three child-size hot chocolates and a skinny latte."

"And the magic word would be...?" Keith proposes, grinning infuriatingly at me. I gape at him incredulously.

"You can't be serious."

"I'm waiting."

"Fine," I sigh heavily. "Get me three child-size hot chocolates and a skinny latte, _please_."

Keith smirks and starts whipping up the drinks requested. "Much better. Now was that so hard?"

"Shut-"

"-up, yeah I got it, I got it."

This is the start of a beautiful friendship.

Keith places the drinks on a tray, which I slide over to the frazzled mother with a sunny smile. She nods distractedly at me and starts ushering the three hyperactive children around her legs to a table. Poor woman. I don't realise I've said it out loud until Keith nods in agreement.

"I know. My sister has her hands full with one."

"You're an uncle?" I ask, surprised. Keith looks too sleekly good-looking to be anything except an older brother, or maybe a cousin.

"Always the tone of surprise," Keith mumbles. "Oh look, your museum man's back."

"Huh?" my head snaps up. Indeed, the young man from yesterday is walking to the counter. Okay, Grace, don't freak don't freak don't freak-

"Extra large double strength espresso," he orders.

"So you work in a museum?" comes flying out of my mouth before I can stop it. Idiot!

An almost imperceptible crease appears between his browns. "Extra large-"

"-double strength espresso," I sigh, nodding. "Right, sorry. Keith..."

"On it, boss," Keith announces, shoving a cup under the espresso machine. As the cup fills up, he sits back and watches me in anticipation for whatever stupid comment I'll make next. It's so nice to see that I've made a lasting impression on my co-worker. Well I'll show him! I won't mention _anything_ about the coffee shop guy's job, as cool as it is.

"Which museum do you work at?" _Dammit_!

"I don't see how that's any of your business," the young man replies, not even remotely surprised at the question. I frown.

"Well, I want to visit it. I don't know of any museums in Metro City."

"Easily fixed," he says. "First step, go to the Metro City tourist centre. Second step, ask where the closest museum is located. Third step, follow their instructions and you will end up at the location of the closest museum. Problem solved."

...this is probably a bad time to mention that I have no idea where the tourist centre is.

"Well yeah, but..." I hesitate, finding no clever retort. "Look, why can't you just tell me where you work?"

"Because that would be grounds for stalking," the young man says slowly, like I'm an idiot. I start spluttering. Huh, déjà vu. Keith hands the young man his espresso, shoulders shaking with stifled laughter. Oh haha, asshole. So glad I'm amusing.

"That wasn't...I mean..." I splutter. The young man turns around and leaves, but not before dropping some spare change into the empty tip jar. That stops Keith's laughter. The door closes and several silent moments pass by. Then I turn to Keith uncertainly. "Was that a good sign?"

Keith blinks, baffled. "I...have no idea."

Odd. Very odd.

* * *

The next day finds me incredibly grumpy, snapping at Keith and glowering at customers.

"What's with you?" Keith remarks eventually, eyeing me warily. I huff.

"Roxanne didn't come home last night until eleven. I don't know how to cook, so I had no dinner."

Keith lets out a low whistle. "Wow, tough. Where was she?"

"I don't know," I answer. "She wouldn't tell me."

"Maybe she got kidnapped by Megamind," Keith jokes. At least, I think he's joking. I have no idea who Megamind is, so maybe he isn't. Still, I snort anyway.

"Yeah, sure, whatever. And Memo Man saved her."

Keith pauses. "If you're talking about Metro Man, then yes. Yes he did."

You know, I bet this Metro Man guy doesn't even exist. I mean, I've never _seen_ him. And who's ever heard of someone who has superpowers in real life? It just...doesn't happen.

Keith opens his mouth to continue, but closes it again when he glances at the door. A mad grin spreads over his face. "This is gonna be good."

I stare at him, confused. "What, why-"

"Extra large double strength espresso and if you ask me anything about a museum, I will hurt you."

I let out a yelp and spin around, eyes wide. The young man from yesterday (and the day before) is standing on the other side of the counter, eyebrows raised at me. I gawp at him. "You're _mean_."

"I'll live," is his answer. "Do I have to repeat my order every time I come in?"

I frown, but turn to Keith. "Extra large double strength espresso."

Keith looks a little disappointed at the lack of stupid responses from me. "Okay..." He turns to the espresso machine and starts preparing the drink. I follow Keith and pretend to help him by cleaning up the bench.

"So, um..." I whisper to Keith in a quiet voice. "...is he a regular here?"

Keith blinks at me. "Who?"

"The..." I hesitate, realising I don't know his name. "...espresso...museum guy. He's been here every day."

"Yeah, he kinda is," Keith agrees, his head bobbing up and down. He finishes up with the espresso and hands it to me. "Knock him dead. Not literally, mind you. You two are funny."

"Thanks," I say dryly, before heading back to the young man. "Here's your drink."

He takes it with an almost imperceptible nod of thanks. He turns to leave, but pauses before he takes even one step away. "By the way...my name's Bernard. Not espresso museum guy."

My mouth drops open in shock that he heard me, and he takes advantage of my stunned silence to leave.

"Well, that was interesting," Keith breaks the silence after a few moments.

"Shut up," I say with no real conviction.

Bernard.

It suits him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything except Grace.**

* * *

When I arrive home from work, I find that Roxanne has beaten me home. An impressive feat, considering my shift ended at three in the afternoon and Roxanne is the one with a full-time job.

"Hi, Grace!" Roxanne chirps from the living room. "There's pizza in the fridge if you want!"

I dump my bag underneath the mirror Roxanne has set up near the door. "You're back early." I _was_ planning on actually utilizing Roxanne's apartment since she wouldn't hovering over my shoulder every time I looked up...but there goes that plan.

Roxanne's laughter floats through. "We finished shooting early! Besides, Hal had an allergic reaction to something at the place we were shooting at...Oh! Hal is-"

"Don't know, don't care."

Roxanne is next to me quicker than I could imagine. "That's rude. You sound like mom."

Better not tell mom her golden child is rebelling. She'll be crushed. Then again, she'll probably just find some way to blame me.

"Whatever. Pizza is...?"

"In the fridge," Roxanne answers, frowning at me. Well apparently she doesn't like my attitude. I go into the kitchen and investigate the pizza. It's meat lovers, which is my favourite flavour. I take out a couple slices and place them on a plate.

"Seriously, Gracie," Roxanne continues, having followed me into the kitchen. "You need to change your attitude. I mean, _you_ wouldn't want to hang around someone who treats you like something on the bottom of their shoe, right?"

I think of Bernard and nod. "Too true." I don't know if my heart's in it though.

That little bit of agreement seems to make Roxanne happy, because she changes topics. "So I was thinking we go out for dinner tonight! Some place a little fancy, to celebrate you coming to Metro City."

I wrinkle my nose and take a bite of cold pizza. "Fancy? Do I have to?"

"Of course!" Roxanne insists. "There's plenty of nice places in Metro City!"

"Whatever. Just…tell me when we leave."

Roxanne looks a bit annoyed. "Seven o'clock. Grace-"

She's cut off by a loud jingling noise from my room. It's official, God loves me. "Oh would you look at that, my mobile phone is going off. You'll have to excuse me while I answer it, I don't want to be rude or anything." Before Roxanne can reply, I turn tail and flee to my room – pizza in hand.

"Hello?" I ask after picking up the phone. Okay, I know what it looks like. Yes I have a phone even though I have no friends. My uncle bought it for me. If you really want to know, I have a grand total of four phone numbers in it – Roxanne's, Richard's and my parents' secretaries'. My parents' secretaries are usually the only ones who wish me happy birthday. I'd like to pretend it's because they genuinely care for me and/or my parents asked them to, but I know it's only because they feel sorry for me.

"Wassup, Museum Girl?" chirps out of my phone. I nearly shriek from surprise and choke on my pizza.

"W-What? Keith? How did you get my number?"

"I asked Richard," Keith says cheerfully. "So, whatcha doing?"

"Eating pizza," I answer truthfully. A snort is his reply.

"You really spare no details, don't you?"

"What?" I ask, befuddled. "You asked and I answered. What else is there?"

"_Well_, just in case you were wondering, _I'm_ watching TV," Keith said proudly. I snort.

"You sound so proud that you can afford it."

"Wait, wha- _no_! God, that's not what I meant!" Keith protests. "You know what, you're not very fun to talk to."

"_You_ called _me_!" I snap.

"Big mistake," Keith mutters, but there's a teasing note in his voice. Is this what friends do?

Christ, do all friends treat each other worse than their enemies?

"Listen, if you don't have anything else to talk about, I'm leaving," I snap. "I have a very important dinner to get ready for."

"You know, typically people eat dinner at dinner time," Keith informs me. "Or is my family just special that way?"

"Okay, you caught me," I say. "I just wanted to stop talking to you."

Keith sniffs. "You're _mean_."

"Good gosh, I'm almost slightly bothered by that," I drawl and walk over to my closet, looking through my clothes. Okay, so to a fancy restaurant you're supposed to wear a dress…which I don't own. A further inspection of my wardrobe yields nothing fancier than a pair of tailored jeans with no holes in them and a shirt that could pass for fancy if no one looked at it for too long.

"Are you going to work tomorrow?" Keith asks me and I can hear his couch creak as he bounces on it.

"Why wouldn't I?" I ask, confused. Keith snorts.

"You are such a newbie. We can take five days of unannounced leave every year before we get into trouble. I've already used up three."

"…call me crazy, but I don't think that's a good idea."

Keith complies happily. "Crazy."

"Oh you're hilarious."

* * *

Roxanne purses her lips when she sees my outfit choice, but doesn't say anything. We take her news van to a restaurant called 'The Mango Leaf'. It's got an Oriental feel to it and all the waitresses are clad in skin-tight Mandarin gowns with slits up to their thighs on one side. The waiters are all dressed in Western clothes though. Go figure. We're seated almost immediately and Roxanne thanks the waiter, who looks a little giddy.

After placing our orders, Roxanne leans across the table with a large smile. "I got you a present!"

I eye her warily. "What is it?"

Roxanne slides a book across the table. It's titled '10 Best Museums in Metro City'. It's the sort of book you see in tourist centres, the one that holds information easily looked up on the internet. I become aware of Roxanne's expectant look and I manage a smile.

"Thanks, Roxie. This is great." I wonder if I can find – no, don't think of him, stupid. You don't even know him.

Roxanne's beam increases by about a million megawatts. Ouch, I think I just got blinded. "You're welcome, Gracie! I know you have your job, but you don't work every day, do you?"

I shake my head. "No, only on Mondays to Thursdays. I get Fridays and weekends off."

"Oh, okay!" Roxanne says, nodding and visibly memorizing the details. "And when's your shift?"

"From nine to three," I answer. Hey, it's like being back in school again. Only I'm not sitting there pretending to listen while actually reading a book on Chinese mythology. Oh, the memories.

"Nine to three," Roxanne repeats, head still bobbing up and down. "Okay. I think I got it. So how _is_ your work, Grace? Are you having fun?"

As much fun as I could possibly have while serving caffeine addicts all day. "It's okay. I mean, it's a job, isn't? It isn't supposed to be fun."

Roxanne frowns. "That's not a very good attitude to take! You should enjoy what you do, not hate it."

Earth to Roxanne, the whole point of me coming here was so that I could get a job I hated! That's what mom said, didn't she?

"Sure, Roxie," I say, like I'm taking her advice. "Sure."

"And who are your co-workers?" Roxanne presses, tapping a manicured fingernail against the table.

"Well, there's my boss, Richard," I relay, thinking about it. "He's okay, I guess. And then I work with a guy named Keith."

"How old is Keith?" Roxanne asks, looking intrigued.

"About my age," I say slowly, not knowing where she's going with this.

"Is he cute?" Roxanne asks, slowly getting excited. I hope she's not planning on dating him. I don't want my first friend ever to be her boyfriend.

"I guess so," I answer, thinking about Keith. Well, he's not ugly. That makes him cute, right? A wide grin threatens to split Roxanne's face.

"Oh, so you like him?" she teases me. I frown.

"Of course I like him, he's my-" I catch the real meaning of what she said. "Oh. Oh god no! No no no! I don't like him _that_ way!" He's too irritating for that.

"Sure, sure, Gracie," Roxanne says patronizingly. "So then if you don't like Keith, who _do_ you like?"

"No one, Roxanne," I snap. God, I've only been here for a few days. "Trust me, the only men in my life are Julius Caesar, Rameses III…and…the like…"

The expression on Roxanne's face seems to scream '_that is more than a little sad, you loser!_', but she only says, "Oh, okay. That's um…that's cool then."

Our food arrives and we eat in silence for a little while. Our conversations (what little we have of them) usually consists of:

Roxanne: This is nice.

Me: grunt

Roxanne: What about yours?

Me: grunt

Roxanne: Would you like some?

Me: No.

Roxanne: Sure?

Me: grunt

Roxanne: Can I have some of yours?

Me: grunt

Roxanne: lapses back into silence

The conversation: becomes seriously uncomfortable

I'm sure Roxanne's faith in my social skills was undeniable in that conversation. I distract myself by reciting random history facts in my mind.

_In the great fire of London, in 1666, half of London was burnt down but only 6 people were injured._

_Cleopatra married two of her brothers._

_The average life span of a peasant during the medieval ages was 25 years_

"Oh!" Roxanne says, surprised. She's staring out the window. I follow her line of sight, only to see the chubby red haired boy who was at the airport with Roxanne. His face is still a little puffy and red. He's staring intensely at Roxanne through the window in what I'm sure he thinks is not a scary or stalkerish way at all. "Hal!"

Hal looks embarrassed to be caught staring and hurries off. I look at Roxanne. "Roxanne, you have a stalker."

Roxanne laughs but I detect a note of slight fear in her laugh. "No, that's just Hal. He's my camera man. He's…um…"

"Creepy as hell."

"No!" Roxanne snaps, but I can tell by the look on her face that she agrees with me. "He's a nice guy. Just a little…lacking in social skills."

"A little?" I repeat doubtfully. Right. And I'm a little lacking in history books.

Though I am.

I so am.

We finish eating and Roxanne pays the bill.

"You wanna go?" Roxanne asks me, standing up. I practically leap to my feet, then pause and recompose myself.

"Well…if you insist."

* * *

Unfortunately, as soon as we step outside I find that no, we are not going home. Apparently when Roxanne asks if I want to go, she means if I want to leave the place we are currently at and head in the direction of the nearest mall.

"What about this one?" Roxanne asks, holding up a black miniskirt. I barely look at her, too busy looking at my watch.

"Roxanne, you have tons of skirts already. Why do you need another one?"

"Because I only have one black skirt!" Roxanne protests. "What if that skirt gets dirty, or I'm lending it to someone? I need another skirt!"

"Easily fixed," I reply, scowling. "Don't get it dirty and don't lend it to anyone. How much is it anyway?"

Roxanne looks at the price tag and I watch her face fall. "_Oh_, my last skirt was half that price! Oh…" She glances from side to side desperately, as if something around her would give her the answer. Seeing no such thing, she sighs, then makes a determined expression and nods. "Okay. I'm going to get it. What the hell, you only live once right?"

"Well, if you ask the Buddhists-" I begin, but trail off when Roxanne glares at me. "But we're not Buddhist. Sure. Whatever."

Roxanne beams, then swipes another one. This one's in a smaller size. I snap back to attention. "Wait, what are you doing? You're not even that size."

"Well, I was thinking _you_ might need one!" Roxanne explains as she takes it over to the counter to pay. "You never know when a formal occasion will come up."

Even if a formal occasion came up, I really highly doubt I could wear a mini skirt to it. "No, Roxie!" I snap, snatching it away from her. "I'm not buying it!"

Her face falls. "But, _Grace_-"

"No buts," I say firmly and go to put it back on the rack. By the way, just keep in mind this – the skirt (despite its ceiling high price) is a sale item, so the rack's at the front of the store. Anyone walking by could see me holding that skirt.

Which is exactly what Bernard does.

He's strolling along casually, blank face…blank. He glances disinterestedly at my general direction, then raises an eyebrow when he sees me…or more precisely, the miniskirt.

Oh Christ.

He flicks his gaze from me to the skirt, then sends me a '_you have got to be kidding me_' look. I flush and open my mouth to say something (though what I have no idea), but after sending me a doubtful look, gaze flicking to the skirt one last time, he's gone again. I stand there for the longest time, feeling my face get warmer and warmer, before a sense of indignation bubbles up within me. What the hell was that doubtful look supposed to mean, anyway? Was he saying I was too fat to fit into it? Too tomboyish? Well I'll show him!

With my mind made up, I march back to Roxanne and throw the skirt on the counter. "Roxie! I change my mind! I _do_ need that skirt, as a matter of fact!"

Roxanne looks surprised, but pays for my skirt as well as hers. "What brought on the change of mind?"

"Nothing!" I say maybe a smidge too harshly, because Roxanne's eyebrows move up further.

"Okay, now I _know_ something happened."

"Nothing happened!" I snap, anger and the slightest bit of embarrassment still crackling beneath the surface of my skin. "I just want the skirt, okay? What's wrong with that?"

If Roxanne's eyebrows move up any further, they're going to hit the ceiling. "Uh…okay then? You clearly don't want to talk about it…"

"No, I clearly don't!" I growl, crossing my arms petulantly across my chest. How _dare_ Bernard? If I wanted to buy a miniskirt – which I _didn't_, but now have to thanks to him – then it was my business, not his! How could anyone be so…so…_infuriating_? He didn't even say anything!

Besides, most guys _like_ it when girls wear miniskirts. Why the hell didn't he?


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything except Grace.**

* * *

The next day when I get ready for work, I almost consider childishly wearing my new miniskirt to rub it in Bernard's face that I can. Then I decide that Richard probably has strict uniform rules, so I change back into my normal pair of jeans.

"Yo, Museum Girl!" Keith says cheerfully when I take my place beside him at the register. "Had a good night?"

"No," I say flatly, ringing up a customer's order. "Caramel frappe."

"What's the-"

"**Caramel. Frappe**."

There must be something in my voice that says 'don't screw with me', because Keith complies. When the customer has his drink and is gone, Keith rewords his question.

"Okay, had an interesting night then?"

An animalistic growl escapes me with me meaning to. "Don't get me started."

Keith blinks, confused. "That bad, huh?"

At his words, all the anger seems to escape me, leaving just the hurt behind. I sigh and turn around, leaning against the counter. "Keith…would I really look that bad in a miniskirt?"

Keith visibly reels back, as if he was slapped. "_What_?"

"A miniskirt," I say and offer no further explanation. He stares at me incredulously.

"Are you saying you're acting like a pregnant chick just because someone told you you'd look horrible in a miniskirt?"

"He didn't actually say it!" I protest, before slapping a hand over my mouth. Keith looks even more incredulous.

"You're acting this way because of a _guy_?"

"No!" I protest weakly, but the damage has been done. Keith looks like he doesn't know whether he should laugh or cry.

"This is un-freaking-believable. You are the last person that I thought…Christ. This is just…"

"Just what?"

The voice makes us both yelp and spin around. Bernard is staring at us with a cocked eyebrow. "Did I interrupt something?"

I scowl at him. "Oh great, it's _you_." I regret the venom in my voice almost immediately when I see Keith's mouth drop open in realisation.

Bernard doesn't look affected by my tone. "Did you buy it in the end?"

"Yes I did!" I snap. "I might need it one day."

Bernard looks like he believes it even less than me. "Right. Extra large double strength espresso."

I glance at Keith, who is gaping at me. "If you keep your mouth open like that, flies will fly in. You heard him."

Keith shuts his mouth and nods, still looking at me in disbelief. He hurries to the espresso machine, muttering something about girls only wanting people who don't want them. Can't mean me though.

I turn my back on Bernard and cross my arms over my chest. Maybe if I ignore him he'll go away.

"If you're going to take my advice on miniskirts, then maybe you should also take my advice on that shirt you're wearing. White is not your best colour."

Or maybe he'll just find something else to criticize.

I spin around and hiss angrily with glowing cheeks, "_It is my uniform!_"

"I don't see _him_ wearing a white shirt." Bernard nods at Keith, who is approaching with Bernard's coffee (and wearing a black shirt). I scowl at Bernard.

"We have two colours to – look, just take your coffee and go."

"My, my, so hostile," Bernard muses, but walks away from the counter.

Only to sit down at one of the tables.

GOD, WHY DO YOU HATE ME SO MUCH?

Keith waits until Bernard takes out a book and is reading before talking. "You have got to be kidding me," Keith hisses at me, grabbing me by the arm in an excruciatingly painful grip. "You just…Oh Christ."

"Shut up!" I protest, trying in vain to wriggle away from Keith. It clearly doesn't work. "Like you've never been insecure before!"

"I didn't even know you had feelings!" Keith says a little bit too loudly, because I see the corner of Bernard's lips twitch. I slap Keith on the arm, but he barely reacts to it. "Right, right, sorry. But, Grace…d'you like him or something?"

"No," I say almost automatically, then smile when I realise I'm telling the truth. I don't like Bernard like that – he's never given me a reason to – or at least, not yet. But there's something about him that just…makes me want to prove myself to him.

Keith eyes me warily. "You're one messed up chick, you know that?"

"I get that a lot," I say, smirking a little as I take the next customer's order.

* * *

"Of all the freaking days!" I curse, running through the streets with my arms over my head in a fruitless attempt to shield me from the rain. "Why did it have to rain today?"

Seriously! I didn't even know it _could_ rain in Metro City! Why didn't Memo Man or whatever his name is just fire his superpowers into the clouds and stop the rain? And I have to run all the way home in the rain, in my uniform! I should have taken Richard's advice and waited in the Bean Baby for a while. But noooo, I had to be a good little sister so I could get home for Roxanne! I mean, she won't even be home until six at the earliest! What was I _thinking_?

My train of thought is interrupted when I crash into another person, who lets out a grunt at the impact. I'm nearly sent sprawling flat on my ass but manage to catch myself.

"Ah, shit I'm sorry-" I break off when I see who it is. "Oh. Bernard. It's just you."

"Your concern for my health is overwhelming," he returns, brushing off his suit with one hand. In the other hand is an umbrella. I nearly throw myself under it, but manage to restrain myself. "I told you not to wear a white shirt."

I blink at him, confused, then curse when I remember what happens to white shirts when they get wet. The next thing I know, something is thrown into my face. Bernard's jacket. I eye it warily. Bernard rolls his eyes and gives me his patented 'are you retarded or just an idiot _' _look.

"It's a jacket," he says with exaggerated slowness, making gestures to go along with it as if he thinks I'm deaf as well as stupid. "People wear them when they are cold. You are going to wear it because you'll look like a tramp otherwise."

I so badly want to return his statement with the rude finger, but instead I decide to be grateful and take the jacket. It's a little too big for me and my hands are swallowed up in the sleeves. Not that Bernard is a giant. I notice that he's strangely slender for a boy. The jacket would maybe even fit Roxanne. Then again, she's way curvier and taller than me, so what do I know?

"Thanks," I tell Bernard, holding the front of the jacket closed. He looks at me for the longest time, then speaks.

"Come on, I'll take you to a museum. It's not mine, but it'll do for shelter."

I gape at him for a little while. "Are…are you serious?"

Bernard raises an eyebrow. "Well, I could always leave you here and you can get even more soaked. I'll need my jacket back, of course."

"No!" I burst out before I can even think. "No. I'll…I'll go. Which way?"

"Just follow me," he says, and I do.

* * *

The museum he takes me to is large and ancient, though not the largest and…ancient-est I've seen. Still, it's a museum, and all the stress that built over the past week seems to ebb out of me, leaving me feeling light-headed. Without even realising it, I ghost up to and through a large arch. I hear Bernard's footsteps behind me, but I barely register it as I look at a beautiful Greek stone carving depicting a minotaur and a man fighting. Chunks are missing and the carving is a little worn in some places, but the essence is there.

"You're really weird."

Okay, is it too much to ask for one second without being criticized?

"Look who's talking, Mr I-_work_-in-a-museum!'" I snap back, glowering at it. He just eyes me.

"You're probably the only person under the age of a hundred I've met who loves history this much. Did you get dropped on the head as a baby or something?"

"I would not put it past my mother," I reply, but then shake my head. I did _not_ mean to say that. "What's so weird about liking history?"

"Not many people do," Bernard says, squinting at me. It's silent for a little while, before he jerks his head in one direction. He looks at me quietly, _daringly _almost – like he's testing me. "The Egyptian exhibit is over there if you want it."

God, this guy is just full of surprises, isn't he? "Um, sure. That would be…nice."

Bernard doesn't say anything, instead only gesturing for me to follow him. I do so, still feeling a little apprehensive. As we walk, I take the time to inspect Bernard. His brown hair – which is the type of messy that most boys have to use gel to accomplish – seems honestly messy, like he just woke up. His glasses are a pair of cheap wire frames, the type that you'd find at the chemist. His suit is formal, but clearly not a designer one. From all this, I work out that he prefers function over form. A man after my own heart.

Bernard's brown eyes dart towards me and he cocks an eyebrow at me. "What?"

I'm startled back into reality. "N-Nothing!"

I'm not kidding anyone, and Bernard's look tells me that. Fortunately he decides to ignore my spot of weirdness and gestures to a large hall. It's brimming with statues and ancient artefacts. My breath is taken away at the sight of it. I've never seen so many authentic Ancient Egyptian artefacts. I don't know how long I stay there, just staring at the hall, but when I look back at Bernard, he's looking at me. I flinch and wait for the usual scorn I face when a boy – or _anyone_ for that matter – finds out how much of a history geek I am, but Bernard doesn't look any more scornful than usual.

Note the 'than usual'.

"You're a strange girl, Grace Ritchi," Bernard tells me bluntly.

"I get that a lot," I say, then feel my mouth drop open in shock. "W-Wait, how did you know-"

"You're Roxanne Ritchi's sister, aren't you?" Bernard quizzes. "One of my co-workers was supposed to help you find a job at our museum. But then the day you started working at the coffee shop, Roxanne called and told him that you found a job at a place called the Bean Baby. I just connected the dots from there."

I'm speechless."You…that…_what_?"

"Your powers of speech are astounding," Bernard says quite seriously. "Now…are you looking at this hall or not?"

Bernard knows who my sister is.

I'm not sure how I feel about this.

* * *

"Omigosh, Grace, you're soaked!" Roxanne exclaims when I finally arrive home…at seven thirty.

"It was raining," I answer simply, letting my stuff fall to the floor. Roxanne hurries up to me and starts pulling Bernard's jacket off me- oh, _crap_! I forgot to give his jacket back! God dammit…

"You're insane!" Roxanne protests, dragging me into the nearest bathroom (hers) and rubbing me frantically with a towel. "Why didn't you call? I would have picked you up! What if you catch a cold?"

"Calm down, Roxie!" I complain, holding up my arms as Roxanne peels off my shirt, which is sticking to me like a second skin. Yeah, Bernard's jacket did nothing to shield against the rain. "It's not the end of the world."

"It is if you get a cold!" Roxanne snaps, pulling off my jeans and throwing them in the laundry hamper. She hands me the fluffy white towel she was using to dry me. "Dry yourself off. I'll go bring you some clothes."

I comply easily, patting myself down with the towel. Roxanne disappears and reappears a few minutes later, holding my pyjamas, a dressing gown and my underwear.

"Go change," Roxanne orders. "I'll go look for a hairdryer."

"Yes, mum," I say sarcastically. Roxanne disappears _again_ and I change into the clothes she brought me. The dressing gown is thick and fluffy and smells like flowers.

Okay, so maybe Roxanne isn't _that_ bad.

When I emerge from the bathroom, Roxanne is in the living room. She's holding up Bernard's jacket, frowning.

"Don't touch what isn't yours," I announce from the doorway, making her jump.

"Whose jacket is this?" Roxanne demands when she's recovered. "It's too big to be yours. It looks like it'll barely fit on _me_."

I nearly tell the truth, but decide against it in the end. "A friend's. Why?"

"Grace!" Roxanne pesters. "Come on! Whose is it?"

"A friend's," I repeat. "He leant it to me because my shirt was going see-through."

Roxanne doesn't look like she quite believes it. "Right. Well…it looks like it needs dry cleaning."

I frown. "But I need to give it back tomorrow."

Roxanne sighs and offers, "Well, I know a place that does good last minute stuff. I can drop it off for you and you can pick it up in the morning."

Wow. That was actually…nice. I bob my head awkwardly. "Um…yeah. Thanks. That'd be great."

A mix of a sigh and a groan escapes Roxanne's lips as she starts drying my hair. "You're going to tell me about him one day."

Not if I can help it.

* * *

"That is a distinctively masculine coat," Keith announces to me as I hide it under the counter when I arrive at work. "Don't tell me you're secretly a man?"

A remark like that is barely worth the effort of replying, but I do so anyway. I give him an 'are you retarded or just stupid?" look that, yes, I stole from Bernard. "Yes. You got me. I am secretly a man. However did you find out?" I hit Keith over the head. "Idiot!"

"Ouch!" Keith yelps, hands shooting up to grab the spot I hit. "You're so violent."

"Stop asking stupid questions then!" I snap, brushing off imaginary dust off my shirt. Black this time. Which I am _not_ wearing because of Bernard! It's because my other shirt is…um…still wet! Yes, it's still wet! That's why I'm not wearing it!

Keith eyeballs the jacket, as if it has the answer written – or sewn – on it. "Is it your boyfriend's?"

Before I can give the appropriate response (which would have of course been slapping Keith), a voice stops us in our tracks. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that and ask for an extra large double strength espresso and my jacket."

Keith lets out a very masculine shriek and I nearly trip over myself turning around. "How the _hell_ do you do that?"

Bernard flicks his gaze from Keith, who is already starting to make his drink, then back to me again. "Well, this is just a random guess…but it really helps that you're always too absorbed in whatever conversation you're having to notice the door open. Did your boss actually watch you working before he hired you? Because that really isn't good staff material."

"He did!" I protest feebly. "He was there when I…" I trail off, however, when I realise that bringing up my first encounter of Bernard is probably not something I want to do.

"Oh," is all Bernard says when he realises what I mean. "Hm. Where's my jacket?"

"Oh!" I say, surprised. "Right, sorry! Lemme just…" I squat under the counter and rummage for the jacket. It shows up quickly enough – well, it _was_ on the top – and I stand back up and hand it back to Bernard. "Thanks for lending it to me."

I catch an almost imperceptible wrinkle of his nose. "It smells like perfume."

What the hell? I don't even _use_ – oh, right, it must have been when Roxanne was carrying it. Excuse me while I just…you know…burn it. Keith leans over and sniffs it.

"Yup, smells like chick alright."

"I swear it's not me," I announce to both of them. "It must have been the dry cleaning place."

Bernard stares at me like he's questioning my sanity. "Why did you have it _dry cleaned_?"

"It was soaked," I say weakly. God, it takes up all my energy just to survive with this guy around. "My sister said I had to." I thought that's what people normally do…

Bernard rolls his eyes – a testament to what he thinks of my sister. With that, all my annoyance at this guy vanishes and is replaced by sheer happiness. Keith slides across Bernard's drink for me and I hand it to him.

"Here's your drink!"

"Here's your money," Bernard returns, swapping me the drink for the money. "You might want to work on that too."

For one confusing moment, my mind struggles to comprehend what he means. Then my mouth drops open when I realise that I never asked for money from Bernard. _Shit_!

When I voice my sentiments to Keith (after Bernard leaves, obviously), he is far from helpful. "Maybe you've gotten so used to your museum man that you've stopped viewing him as a customer."

Used to Bernard.

I don't think I could ever become that.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything except Grace.**

**On a separate note, what do you think Bernard's home life was like? Think it was a happy one or sad one? Think he had any siblings? Think he lived in Metro City or came from another city or even country?**

**/shamelessly fishing for ideas.**

* * *

So it turns out even Metro City can get blisteringly hot. Who knew?

"_Gra-ace_…" Roxanne whines from the balcony. "Pour me another lemonade…please?"

I take my nose out of my book for a moment to look at the pitcher of lemonade sitting on the kitchen bench. Then I decide that the five metres from the couch to the kitchen is too far.

"No. Get it yourself."

"Grace!" Roxanne wails, and I see a slender arm flash at the door as she removes her arm from over her eyes. "Be nice! It's my day off!"

"It's my day off too," I snap, glaring in her general direction. "If anything, _you_ should be getting _me_ another glass of lemonade."

"You haven't even finished your first one!" Roxanne protests.

"What the hell? Yes I have-" I break off when I realise she's right. Damn, how does she do that? "Well, I'm still not pouring you a glass."

"Grace!" Roxanne pleads. "Come on! I'll be your best friend forever."

A shudder escapes me involuntarily. "Er…no thanks."

"_Gra-ace_! Pleeeeeaaaase-"

"Fine!" I snap, tossing my book to the side and throwing my hands in the air in exasperation. "Just shut up already!"

"Thank you, Gracie!" Roxanne chirps. I can practically see her flutter her stupid curly eyelashes at me innocently. I just grunt in return and sloppily pour the lemonade into a glass. I almost immediately regret my lack of care when some splashes onto my hand. I suck on the lemonade spot on my hand as I head out to give Roxanne her drink. Roxanne is stretched out on an outdoor lounge chair, arm thrown over her eyes again to shield herself from the glare of the sun.

"Oi," I say, slamming the glass down on the little table next to her. "Your drink."

Roxanne moves her arm and flashes me a blinding beam. "Thank you so much, Grace!"

"Whatever," I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest. Roxanne is wearing the least girly thing I have ever seen her wear – short shorts and a stomach-baring tank top. Make no mistake, she still looks stunning. Man, some people are born with all the luck.

Roxanne sips at her drink, then a dull flush of _something_ (Excitement? Adoration?) settles on her cheeks as she jerks upright. "_Oh_! It's Metro Man!"

I follow her line of sight, only to see a blur of white chasing a car along the streets. I watch as the blur slowly turns to a man as he manages to completely stop the car just by holding onto the bumper. His bright, perfect smile (from what I can see, anyway) doesn't slip a watt and his muscles don't strain one bit, even when the bumper is nearly torn off.

Wait, what the hell?

I choke on absolutely nothing. That's how shocked I am. "How the _hell_ did he do that?"

"He's Metro Man!" Roxanne explains happily, eyes glued to the muscle bound man arresting the two thugs in the car. "He's the protector of Metro City!"

Holy shit, Roxanne was telling the truth? Damn, I never realised.

As if hearing his name – which, now that I think about it, he probably did – Metro Man looks up. He gives a little wave and I think he's grinning. Roxanne lets out a surprised "Oh!" and runs inside. Weird. Maybe she's self-conscious about her stomach?

I pull a face at him then run inside.

* * *

In the end, I decide to take refuge from the heat by walking to the neighbourhood library. On the way, I notice lots of little things. There's a park two blocks away from Roxanne's apartment. There's a supermarket half a block away from that. There's an anime and manga store in the building next to Roxanne's apartment. But eventually, I do get to the library. And _what_ a library!

'Oh, god,' I think to myself as I stare at the shelves and shelves of books lined up in neat rows throughout the library. 'If living with Roxanne means having access to _this_, then I'm staying longer than planned.'

My feet automatically start walking towards the history section, but I force them to walk to the fiction section instead. Saving the best for last, yada yada. Even so, I manage to pick up two (or five…ish) books. I struggle to carry them all. Unfortunately, I fail and a book is sent hurtling to the floor. Before I can do something stupid like drop all my other books to catch that one book, someone else catches it for me. I look up, right into Bernard's deep brown eyes.

If this was some sort of cheesy romance novel or chick flick, this would be the part where Bernard says something witty and clever and oh-so-romantic. As it is, he merely gives me a look that is so purely Bernard it makes my chest tighten.

"Are you stalking me?"

I once knew a girl who talked in msn speak in real life. You know what she'd say to that? W-T-F.

"What the hell?" I snap. "No! I didn't even know you were here!"

Bernard glances down at the book that dropped and I have to fight not to snatch it back. Because, _yes_ it is a cheesy romance novel.

…shut up, I don't have to explain myself to you!

"I thought you were into history?" Bernard starts walking and I automatically follow him.

"I do. Doesn't mean I can't read novels now, does it?"

I almost expect him to reply touché. Silly me. That would be admitting we're equals.

"You know, most people find one genre and stick to it," Bernard continues, ducking between two shelves.

"I'm not most people," is the best answer I can come up with. Dammit, brain, now is not the time to slack off! Bernard turns around and studies my expression. He looks almost like he's trying to figure me out. But maybe that's just all the cheesy romance novels talking.

"I can tell," Bernard says slowly. As the seconds tick by, I become aware of the narrowness of the shelves. My shoulders are almost brushing each shelf and I'm forced to stand a little closer to Bernard than I'd have liked. I almost think that we're sharing a moment like in a movie, but then Bernard ruins the moment by reaching out, pulling a book off a shelf and letting it fall to the floor without even looking at it.

Yup, definitely reading too many cheesy romance novels.

I gasp and dive for the book, somehow managing to keep a grip on all my books. "What the _hell_, man, this is a library! Treat the books with respect!"

"This is the aisle for Ancient Rome and Ancient Greece," Bernard continues, sliding easily past a trolley and pushing it over to me. It hits me in the stomach, winding me and making all the books fall out of my hand into the trolley. "Ancient Egypt is two aisles over and Ancient China is three."

As Bernard talks, he pulls more books off shelves and lets them fall to the floor as well. I manage to catch them in my trolley…barely.

"Jesus, slow down!" I snap, staring at the mound of books in my trolley. I lean forward to straighten the pile of books, gently unfolding the bent pages. Not even a moment after I've finished, Bernard starts walking again. He walks up to the front desk and I clumsily follow him, nearly walking right into my trolley after I forget that it's there.

"She needs a library card," Bernard drawls to the woman behind the desk who is approaching old age faster than she probably would like. The woman nods and takes out some forms.

"Standard fee is five dollars."

I splutter a little in protest, but Bernard ignores me and throws across a five dollar bill without thinking twice.

"Do you have a pen?" Bernard asks me as he slides the forms across to me.

"Um, no I-" I shake my head. "Wait! Bernard! Hang on a min -"

"No matter, I have one," Bernard says casually, taking a pen out of his pocket. "You need to fill those forms out if you want a library card."

"I don't need a library card!" I protest, but fill out the forms anyway. "I can read it here-"

"What kind of backwards town did _you_ grow up in?" Bernard asks me doubtfully. "In a normal city, you _borrow_ out books. Hence why it's called a library. Not a bookstore."

"Hey!" I complain. "I grew up in a normal town!"

"I'm sure," Bernard tells me in a voice that suggests otherwise as he takes my forms and gives it to the librarian. The librarian's eyes bug out a little as she sees my last name, but a glare from Bernard sends her scurrying. Ten minutes later finds me walking out of the library with my books and new library card.

"Thanks for helping me," I tell him grudgingly, trying to juggle my books. But Bernard is already walking off. "W-Wait!"

He doesn't even falter. "What?"

"Are you _ever_ going to tell me which museum you work at?"

He doesn't turn, but I swear I can feel him roll his eyes. "You just don't give in, do you?"

"If I say no will you tell me?"

"No," Bernard says and turns the corner. I consider chasing after him, but decide against it when my books sway precariously. Instead I make the journey back home. It seems a lot longer than before.

* * *

"Hey, Museum Girl!" Keith says cheerily, looking up as I enter the employee locker room. "How was your weekend?"

"It was okay," I answer, stuffing my bag in my locker. "I got a library card."

"Fun," Keith drawls sarcastically. "Your life is so exciting. Don't tell me you borrowed some books too?"

"So what if I did?" I defend, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. "They were good." Surprisingly. Bernard has good tastes.

"And I bet you're going to read them again when you get home?" Keith teases.

"You are so annoying," I snap, mainly because he's right.

"Well I have a better idea of what you can do after work," Keith continues. "Mom heard me talking to you on the phone and she wants to meet you. She likes knowing who my friends are, for some reason."

My initial reaction is to say no. I know what mothers are like. Judgemental. Moody. Bossy. But then I wonder if all mothers are like that or just the ones in my family.

"How long?" I ask reluctantly, still weighing how I feel about it. Keith looks confused at my question.

"I dunno, a few hours I guess?"

Curiosity wins out over my initial aversion. "Well, I guess I'll come. Roxanne comes home late on Mondays anyway."

Keith looks pleased. "Great! I'll meet you outside after work."

"Can't wait," I say, hoping that I won't regret my decision. Keith and I finish up in the locker room and go outside to open up.

I wait and wait the whole day, but Bernard doesn't show.

* * *

True to his word, Keith is outside waiting for me when I finish changing back into my normal clothes. He straightens when he sees me. "You ready?"

"Yeah-" I begin, but my answer is cut off by an ear-splitting screech. We both look in the direction it came from and I sigh at what I see. Metro Man is holding two men up by their collars. Bags fall out of their pockets, containing what I'm pretty sure is not sugar.

"Oh my god!" Keith squeaks, eyes bugging out. "Pinch me, I must be dreaming."

"What?" I ask, confused. Policemen show up to arrest the men. "They're only drug dealers."

Keith turns on me, eyes wide. "Grace! That's _Metro Man_! Metro City's defender of justice and all-round good guy!"

I recognize that adoring expression and groan. "Oh god, don't tell me you're one of his fan freaks?"

"How can I not be?" Keith yelps, shaking me by the shoulders. "He's so awesomely cool and heroic! He saves the city everyday!"

"Get off me, you freak!" I snap maybe a little too loudly, because Metro Man looks up. In the blink of an eye he's hovering over a car near us.

"Hey! You're Roxanne's sister, aren't you?"

"So what if I am?" I retort, eyeing him warily. He looks almost childishly confused at the lack of worship in my response, before deciding that I must not realise who he is.

"The name's Metro Man. Perhaps you've heard of me?" He flashes a blinding smile. He is _sort _of handsome, in a pumped-up, over-confident way. Still, I've always had too many of those types in my life, so I manage to ignore it.

"Sorry, the only superhero I like is Museum Man."

He doesn't look even the slightest bit bothered at my tone, still smiling dazzlingly. "As a matter of fact, Museum Man and I are very good friends, we go way back…" He trails off when he sees me gaping at him.

"That was a _joke_," I snap incredulously. How did he not get that?

"So was that," Metro Man says slowly, looking almost bewildered. My mouth snaps shut. Well, I suppose it'd be too much to hope for a day without me making an idiot of myself. Thankfully, Keith manages to take Metro Man's attention off me.

"Metro Man, I'm, like, your biggest fan!" Keith shouts, eyes sparkling in hero worship. "You're so brave and heroic and selfless…doing all that without any, like, reward!"

Metro Man looks more comfortable with Keith's attitude than mine. "Good deeds are rewards in themselves, son! Besides, I owe so much to Metro City for all it's done for me!"

Keith's eyes turn, if possible, even more adoring. "Not at all, Metro Man! Metro City owes _you_ more than you owe it! We'd be, like, nothing without you!"

Metro Man chuckled. "Well, thanks, son! I'm flattered you think so. But duty calls." He salutes us. "Stay in school, kids!" With that, he takes off. Oh hell no, did he just imply-

Keith sighs dreamily, slowly returning to normal. "Isn't he cool?"

I eye him in disgust. "You are such a dork."

"What?" Keith asks, bewildered.

"Like, like, like!" I mimic in a high-pitched tone. "What are you, a teenager? No wonder Metro Man thought we were still in high school!"

"What?" Keith protests as he unlocks his car – a beat up old hatchback. "No he didn't! I'm sure he knew our right age!"

"Are you kidding?" I snort, climbing into his care. "His parting words were 'Stay in school, kids!' Of course he didn't know our age!"

Keith still refuses to believe me as he starts the engine. "No, you probably just misheard him. Or you're making it all up! You don't even like him."

"Of course I don't!" I argue, wincing when Keith tears down the street. For someone who idolizes Metro Man so much, you'd think he'd stick to the speed limit. "He's so cocky and arrogant! Why does everyone like him so much, anyway?"

"Because he's cool!" Keith says like it's obvious. "He's so brave and-"

"-heroic and selfless?" I mock, crossing my arms over my chest. "Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first time. Doesn't make it true though."

"Of course it does!" Keith insists. "You're just sore because you embarrassed yourself in front of him."

I feel my cheeks burn. "No I'm not! And no I didn't!" Much.

"Yeah you did!" Keith retorts very maturely. "Don't even try to deny it, Grace. You so did."

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

Oh Christ. This is going to be the longest ride of my life.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything except Grace.**

**Thanks for answering the question, guys. Really helped a lot. (Except you, ****GirlNextDoor228. Thanks for real.)**

**I've GOT to start thanking reviewers. Thank you, reviewers ;)  
****

* * *

**Okay, I gotta admit, I didn't really know what to expect of Keith's house. Based on my family home, I would've expected something immaculately clean, high-class, and completely unapproachable. Based on Keith's personal tastes, I would've expected something Spartan, yet neat. Both completely incompatible, so I decided it'd be more like Keith tastes.

It's not. It's really not.

As we pull up to the house, I'm greeted by the polar opposite of my family home. I mean, it's big, sure. I'll give it that. But it's also surrounded by large, bushy trees that seem to completely overtake the house. The garage door is open, giving a full view of the chaos inside. Old cars. Boxes of useless crap. Litter boxes. One of the windows on the second story of the house is also open, pop music blaring from it. The house itself is in desperate need of a new paint job. Actually scratch that, it probably needs new everything. There are _dents_ on the sides of the house – the tell-tale dents of tennis balls.

"Welcome to my home!" Keith says cheerfully.

"I love it," I say, meaning it completely.

Keith's mother greets us at the door. "Keith, baby! You're home!"

"Hey, mom!" Keith greets, hugging her. His mother looks nothing like him. She's not even the same _nationality_. She's got blonde hair and pale blue eyes. Maybe Keith was adopted? But then she turns to me and that theory is shot down. She's got Keith's nose and his aristocratic features. Definitely related.

"And you must be Grace!" she says cheerfully, surprising me when she pulls me into a hug. She's comfy and squashy and I practically sink into her embrace. She smells of spices and perfume. "It's so lovely to meet you."

"You too, Mrs…um…Keith's mom," I say awkwardly. She laughs.

"Oh, you don't know our last name! Good, because now you're forced to call me Anna, instead of my mother-in-law's titled." She gives the appropriate shudder. I can't help but laugh. Her eyes are twinkling cheerfully like stars.

"Well, don't just stand there, you two! Come in!"

Inside is equally – if not more so – messy as the outside of the house. Books, magazines and computer games litter the corridors and rooms I pass by. I also note more than one cat.

"Stacy, turn that racket down!" Anna shouts up the stairs, pushing a chubby ginger cat out of her way with her foot. It doesn't seem bothered and goes to sleep in another rom. No one replies, but the pop music softens slightly. We follow Anna into the kitchen, which is surprisingly cleaner than the rest of the house. Make no mistake, it's still got some mess here and there. But it's not as cluttered as the rest of the house.

A small ball of grey fur winds its way around Keith's legs. His eyes light up. "Hey, there you are!" He picks up the cat – or maybe it's a kitten, I can't tell – and nuzzles it. "Hey, Grace, meet Microwave."

I'm not sure what to say to that. Let's start with the obvious.

"You named your cat _Microwave_?"

"I wasn't sure what else to name her," Keith explained sheepishly. "I wanted to name our next cat Oven, but Sarah wouldn't let me."

"I wonder why?" I say sarcastically. "Why do you have so many cats?"

Anna answers me this time. "There's a pet shelter nearby. We take in the cats that can't get adopted so that they don't have to get put down."

"That's so nice!" I exclaim, a little shocked that Keith's mother was so caring. My mother would only take in abandoned cats if it was to make them into a fur coat.

"We still try to get them adopted," Keith explains, placing Microwave on his shoulder. "But we don't really care if they can't."

"Would you like to adopt one?" Anna asks. After seeing the cute ball of fluff that is Microwave, I really want to accept. But I can't.

"I wish," I say gloomily. "But I don't know how long I'll be in town for and I'm not sure my sister will let me."

Anna looks disappointed as she turns back to the various pots and pans on the stove. "Well, that's a shame. But if you decide to make the permanent move here, you know where to go!"

"Of course," I agree, glancing at the first hint of organization since I've gotten here. It's a white board with a timetable drawn on it. The top lists the days of the weeks. The side lists names – Anna, Sam, Keith, Stacey, Sarah and Lynette. Throughout the table, various chores rotate from day to day. Keith is supposed to be washing the dishes today.

"Keith, go get a snack for our guest," Anna orders as she stirs something in a pot. "You can go out on the veranda to eat."

"Yes, mom," Keith agrees, taking Microwave and setting it down on the floor. Microwave scurries off somewhere to do whatever it is kitties do.

Five minutes later finds us sitting on crates on the veranda with a bowl of chips on another crate in between us. Contrary to my expectations, the garden is neat and tidy, with beautiful tropical flowers adding splashes of colour here and there. There's even a little pond with goldfish in the corner.

"I like your garden," I tell Keith sincerely, helping myself to the chips. Keith beams, obviously pleased.

"Thanks. Dad works heaps on it."

"I also really like your house," I add. Keith doesn't look like he believes me in the slightest.

"Yeah right."

"I do!" I insist. "It's so…homey. It's really got that lived-in feeling. Did you grow up here?"

"Yeah," Keith says cautiously, looking like he doesn't know whether to believe me or not. "Why, what was your house like?"

I grimace. "Nothing like yours. It looked like an office."

Keith looks confused. He can't picture it. "Um…right?"

"Don't try to understand," I tell him. "Just be glad you grew up here." Keith still looks confused, so I shift the conversation back to him. "So who else is in your family?"

Keith's eyes light up at the mention of his family and I have to fight down jealousy. "Well, apart from my parents, there's my sisters; Stacey, Sarah, Lynette and Jamie."

"Which one's the one with the kid?" I ask.

"Jamie. She's married so she doesn't live with us anymore. Anyway, Stacey, Lynette and Jamie are all older than me. Sarah's younger, she's still in high school."

I realise something in his explanation. "So you're the only boy?"

"Yup!" Keith confirms, not looking bothered at all. I look for any signs that this might be a sore spot, but find none.

"No wonder you're so girly," I tease, punching him lightly on the arm. Keith looks annoyed.

"Hey! I'm not girly!"

We bicker for a little while, before enveloping into a comfortable silence. Keith breaks it too soon. "What about your family?"

"What about them?" I ask, confused.

"You heard about mine. Tell me about yours."

"Well, there's my parents and Roxanne," I say. "What else?"

"Tell me about your sister," Keith suggests.

"You see her on TV every day," I snap. Sheesh, guess I was wrong about finding one person who wasn't totally obsessed with my sister. I came here to talk about Keith, not Roxanne! Keith sighs boredly.

"Yeah, but nothing personal. You know my feelings about my sisters and their personalities. Tell me about yours."

I hesitate. Roxanne and I are nowhere as near as close as Keith and his sisters are. What am I supposed to tell him? 'I hate my sister'? 'She turned me into a wallflower'? 'She's ruined my whole life'? No. Those are too personal.

"I don't want to talk about her," I say quietly, hugging my knees to my chest.

* * *

I end up staying for dinner. I meet Keith's father (who I learn is named Sam), Stacey and Sarah. Lynette is apparently at someone else's house. When I see Sam, my puzzlement over Keith's mother is solved. Sam is African-American, with short curly hair and dark skin. His eyes are the large, dark ones I see whenever I look at Keith. Keith is an interracial baby, no wonder his features are so unique. Keith's sisters look almost exactly like him, only more feminine. All of the children are a perfect blend of their mother and father.

"So, Grace," Anna says encouragingly as she spoons out some sauce onto my pasta. "You must be in college already, right?"

"Yeah," I say, declining the potatoes that Sarah offers me. "I'm in an accounting course."

"So you like accounting?" Anna asks. I shrug.

"Not really. But it's what my parents want me to do."

Stacey arches a slender eyebrow, but a warning glance from Sam keeps her mouth shut. Dinner with Keith's family is…different, to say the least. There's never a quiet moment. Either Sarah is prattling on about something that happened at school, or Stacey is talking about something someone at work told her, or Anna is laughing about something the cats did, or Keith is complaining about nightmare customers we've had to deal with. The only person who doesn't contribute is Sam, who is content to watch and listen to his family. It's so strange for me, because I usually ate my dinner in my room when I was with my family. We all did.

Makes me wonder what I've been missing out on.

* * *

"Where have you been?" Roxanne asks curiously as I walk through the door. She's already in her pyjamas and is watching TV. "I called you, but you didn't pick up."

"At Keith's house," I mutter, finding it impossible to look at her. Why couldn't she be as nice as Keith's sisters? Why couldn't we be as close as them? Why couldn't she love me like his sisters love him? "I'm going to my room."

"Wait, Grace-"

_Slam_.

* * *

"Mom and dad really liked you," Keith tells me when we're at work the next day. A little buzz of happiness flickers through me, but I pretend not to care as I ring up a customer's order.

"Oh, really? That's cool, I guess."

I don't realise Keith is scrutinising me intently until I look up. He looks expectant and maybe even a little confused. "Did you like them?"

"Yeah," I say, letting a pleased smile filter through. "They were really nice."

Keith doesn't look like he knows whether to believe me or not. I flick my gaze towards the door for what seems like the millionth time since I got here. But still no Bernard. Disappointment fills me and I rest my chin in the palm of my hand.

My life is soooo exciting.

* * *

In the end, Bernard doesn't come in. Like, at all. I feel more disappointed then I should. I mean, so the guy doesn't come to get coffee for two days. Maybe he's getting it from another place. Maybe he doesn't even _want_ coffee. Maybe someone else bought it for him. One of the guys I served today had a kind of 'museum' feel to him.

Oh Christ, I read auras now?

"I'm out, Keith," I announce, slamming my locker door closed. "You coming?"

Keith shook his head, still rummaging around in his locker. "Nah, I think I lost my wallet. It's in here somewhere…"

I roll my eyes as Keith practically climbs inside his locker in his search. "Yeah, well have fun with that, loser. I'm going home."

Keith waves a hand dismissively in my general direction and I roll my eyes again. Unfortunately for me, there's a bunch of boxes and other junk blocking the employees' entrance, meaning I have to leave through the normal doors. I hop over the counter, nodding briefly at the other employees, and head for the door. And I manage to live up to my name (or maybe not) when I not just bump into, but _slam_ into someone coming in.

Do you believe in fate?

I don't.

But if I was a little clearer on how he felt about me, I'd be a lot more willing to. Because this has to be like the fiftieth time I've run into him.

"Oh," Bernard says, eyeing me the same way my college professor eyes my essays. "Grace. It's you. You really should watch where you're going, you know."

Did I say I was willing to? I meant not. Because there is absolutely _no_ way I want to be destined for _anything _with that jerk.

"Shut up," I say, finding it difficult to work up the amount of malice appropriate for Bernard. I feign disinterest. "Are you going to keep standing there or can I get past?"

To my fury, Bernard doesn't even look remotely baffled at my disinterest in him. He steps to the side, but follows me out.

"You'll have to forgive my absence yesterday," Bernard continues, looking like he could care less whether I forgave him or not. I inspect a nearby shop window.

"Oh, were you away? I didn't even notice."

"You can stop acting," Bernard says casually and infuriatingly without a hint of arrogance, like he _knows_ I'm acting. "I know you care."

"Oh yeah?" I argue. "What makes you think I give a shit?"

Bernard's face is smooth and expressionless, though another emotion tints it. I can't for the life of me figure out what. "For one, you're looking into the window of a sex costume store."

Oh right. Amusement.

I freeze and count slowly to ten, hoping that he's wrong and I'm really looking into something cute and innocent, like a harmless toy shop or stationery shop. I look up.

No such luck.

I'm looking right at a leather outfit with numerous straps and buckles on it. Heat floods my cheeks and without even thinking about it, I let out a shriek and stagger backwards, almost landing in the gutter. I would have almost certainly knocked Bernard into the gutter if he hadn't sidestepped me easily.

"Told you so," he says, only serving to infuriate me further. I find no clever remark (do I ever?) and settle for growling at him in a way I'm sure is scary and intimidating.

"What the hell do you even want, anyway?" I retort, curling my hands into fists. Bernard ponders my question quite seriously for a little while.

"Well, new books would be nice. Of course, money would be nice too. You can never go wrong with that."

"Stop that!" I snap, longing to reach out and smack him. He quirks an eyebrow at me.

"Stop what? Breathing? Standing? Answering your questions? Existing? I'm doing many things, you've got to be more specific."

"Stop being smart!" I shriek, too late realising that he made me overreact. Realisation tints his face.

"Ah, so me answering your questions is what is bothering you? Next time you ask a rhetorical question, you should probably say it is. They're not really that clear when you ask them."

Okay, that's it. This guy is just asking for it. Bernard watches calmly as I raise a fist, not even flinching when I draw it back and hurl it towards him. He catches my fist easily in one hand.

"No need to resort to violence," Bernard murmurs, eyebrow quirked irritatingly. "I only came to ask if you wanted to come with me to my museum."

All my anger fizzles out and I stare in confusion at him. "Wh-what?"

"My museum," Bernard repeats with exaggerated slowness. "You know, where I work? You wanted to see it right?"

Despite how angry I was, excitement fills me until I'm practically bouncing on my feet. "Oh, yeah! Of course! You're really gonna take me?"

"I said I did, didn't I?" Bernard retorts, exasperation filling his voice. But I can't bring myself to mind. I finally get to see where he works! I only had to ask about twenty times. Bernard starts walking and I follow him like a baby duckling. No wait, that's not a good description. Like a…yeah I got nothing.

We stop a few minutes later in front of a pristine white building. It looks nothing like the museums I've come to know and love. This can't be it. Can it…?

"We're here," Bernard announces.

It can.

* * *

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	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything except Grace.**

* * *

The museum doesn't feel right to me.

I mean, normally museums have a kind of…_vibe_, as weird as that sounds. All old and musty and with a sort of energy. This building feels too clean, too new to be a museum.

"You work here?" I ask, trying to hide my disappointment. I mustn't have hidden it well enough, because something flickers in Bernard's expression.

"Not many people come here," he answers. "Not enough artifacts to be interesting."

"What?" I ask, confused. "How come?"

Bernard shrugs. "Not enough money. How do we get artifacts with no money?"

"But you don't need artifacts to make a museum interesting!" I exclaim. The best museums I've been to rely on interactive displays, colourful exhibits and interesting trivia to capture the visitor's attention more than ancient artifacts. "I mean, you could set up different exhibits! Posters, light-up maps, diagrams…you don't have to rely on artifacts!"

When I finish, I realise I may have gotten a little too worked up. Bernard is eyeing me, though I can't tell if it's warily or thoughtfully. He speaks soon enough, each word calculating and slow. "I'll tell the curator that. You're a little late though, because our main exhibit includes all of what you said."

"What?" I say, befuddled and almost a little disappointed that I couldn't come up with anything original. "What is it?"

I don't realise we've been walking until Bernard stops outside a large hall. "This."

I look inside and nearly start crying. The large, spacious hall is filled with information and diagrams on...guess who?

Metro Man.

A large painting of him takes up a whole wall, his dazzling beam lit up from behind the painting. The rest of the hall is filled with debris from crime scenes, interviews from people he's grown up with, and news clippings throughout his life. There's even a light-up interactive exhibit for people to test their knowledge on Metro Man. Any shred of hope I had in humanity dies right then and there.

"You've got to be kidding me," I say seriously. "Metro Man? Seriously?"

"Seriously," Bernard confirms. "The curator owns a doctorate in Metro Man. This is the only way he thought of saving the museum."

"Your curator is _weird_ then," I announce, frowning at him. "Who would willingly take a course in that pompous jackass?"

"You've come to the wrong city then," is Bernard's easy reply. "Because this whole city is filled with people who would jump at the chance. Your sister, for one."

"What?" I say blankly. "Roxie?"

Bernard's thin shoulders move up and down in a shrug. It's a strangely fluid motion just for a shrug, but whatever. "She's his closest friend. He's rescued her enough…"

What little respect I had for Roxanne shrivels up like a…a…prawn? Yes, that totally makes sense. Like a prawn. No wonder I nearly flunked out of school. Or maybe it's just because I hated everyone.

"Oi, Green!"

Like that guy.

We look up. Standing in the doorway is a heavily built man. With his broad face and flat nose, he strongly resembles a gorilla. He's about the size of one, too.

"Where's that god damn inventory report?" the man snarls, rubbing roughly at the stubble coating his cheeks. It looks itchy, almost like the steel wool you use to clean pots and pans. Bernard looks bored as he cocks an eyebrow at him.

"I would assume with the person who wrote it. That's not my job."

The man jabs a thumb in Bernard's direction. "Watch it, ya little runt! Your job is what I tell you to do! And I told you to do the inventory report!"

"And I told _you_," Bernard snaps. "That's not my job."

"Just do the-" He says a rude word here, one that starts with F and ends with UCKING. "-report! I won't tell you again!"

I look at Bernard expectantly, waiting for him to tell the man where he can shove his damn inventory report. Imagine my surprise when Bernard rolls his eyes but nods. It's such a small nod that I almost think I imagined it, but it's there. This out of character passivity is _not_ what I expect from Bernard, so I step in myself.

"Are you stupid or just deaf?" I interrupt. "That's _not_ part of his job."

The man looks at me like I'm a cockroach, or dog faeces, or something equally unpleasant. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm someone who doesn't work here," I say, channelling all the Bernard I can and cocking an eyebrow at the man. "So you can't boss me around. Inventory reports are _not_ part of Bernard's job, or did you just not hear him the first twenty times he said so? Maybe you'll hear this: he's _not_ doing it. So you can take it and…" I trail off, seeing Bernard's raised eyebrow and the man's furious expression. "…yeah."

"Why, you rude little bitch!" the man shouts angrily, face rapidly purpling. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

I glance helplessly at Bernard, suddenly seeing that I might be in over my head. But Bernard has his eyes closed and is kneading his forehead with his knuckles. Clearly I'll get no help from him. Okay, I really didn't want to do this. I hate my sister and don't want to think I owe her anything. But I've put up with enough shit from this guy and I have no choice.

"I'm Grace Ritchi. Perhaps you've heard of my sister, Roxanne?"

It's even more effective than I thought it'd be. The man pales and even staggers back a bit. Maybe news reporters are big things in this town?

"M-Metro Man's girlfriend?" the man chokes out, eyes bugging out of his head. I raise an eyebrow. Metro Man has a girlfriend? Can't be, Roxanne's single. She told our parents so. This guy just must be crazy.

"Er…yes. She is totally whatever it is you just said. So scram and leave Bernard and I alone! He's not doing your stupid report!"

The man hesitates one last time, then gets one last jab at Bernard. "Oh look, Green, you've finally found a frigid bitch just like you."

Bernard ignores him completely, not even rising to the bait to my annoyance. The man finally leaves, his heavy footsteps echoing around the room. It's silent for a little while, until Bernard grudgingly breaks it.

"I had it sorted."

"Clearly," I return in annoyance, crossing my arms over my chest. "Damn, Bernard, doormat much?"

"Don't even start!" Bernard snaps with surprising vehemency, eyes narrowed into dangerous little slits. "You don't have any idea about my work. So don't pretend you do."

They say everyone has a weak spot.

It appears I just found Bernard's.

"I wasn't aware your work included being walked all over," I retort loudly, feeling oddly disappointed that I've finally found a flaw in Bernard. He's no longer that untouchable, witty young man who always seems to counteract whatever is sent his way. "Or is that just on days ending in 'y'?"

"Because I'm sure you'd know all about standing up for yourself," Bernard replies angrily. "You must just be such an expert in it that you feel no need to practice it in everyday life. Like…say…with your _sister_?"

"You leave her out of this!" I shriek without thinking. Because Bernard was the one person I could count on to be totally unimpressed by Roxanne. With him it was like she didn't even exist. "I'm sure you have such a perfect relationship with your family yourself, Bernard! Do _you_ have a sister, huh, Mr Wise-guy?"

"That's not the point!" Bernard snaps, but I catch an almost imperceptible flinch at my question. He's got a sister, alright. And there's something about their relationship that he hates. "My sister is none of your concern."

"Just like my sister is none of yours!" I snarl, matching the heat of his glare easily. He looks oddly cute when he's flustered – BUT THAT'S NOT THE POINT! Who cares if his cheeks turn pink when he's angry? Not me. Nope. Not at all.

Okay, okay, you twisted my arm. Maybe a little.

"You mean the sister who you supposedly have a _crap_ relationship with, but you have no problem with using her power?" Bernard retorts. It's when I hear the curse that I realise I've made him lose. He seems to realise this at the same time, because his eyes narrow even further. "You know what, forget it. I don't know why I bother."

"Yeah well, neither do I!" I accuse, pointing at him. "What the hell makes you think you know anything about Roxanne and my relationship, anyway? I haven't told you squat about her."

Bernard snorts, turning away. "Please. If you're going to try to lie to yourself about your family, you could at least stop wearing your heart on your sleeve."

Uncertainty flickers through me, but I push it away. Was it really so bad to be emotional? "Well maybe, Bernard, the rest of us mortals _like_ feeling emotions. Ever considered that? Just because _you're_ emotionally crippled doesn't mean the rest of us are."

The flames in Bernard's eyes are doused then, replaced by something like shock. He has the expression of a man who has been reminded of something he's long since repressed, and the sheer vulnerability of his expression makes me uncomfortable. My own anger disappears and I look at him warily.

"Um, Bernard?" I venture hesitantly. Bernard doesn't answer, deep brown eyes still wide and blank. "I didn't mean it…you're not _totally_ emotionally crippled, I was just exaggerating…"

Bernard seems to come crashing back to earth then, his head jerking slightly. The emotions in his face drain away with the ease of someone who has kept a mask up out of sheer instinct. "Don't _ever_ say that again."

"What?" I ask, confused. Bernard shakes his head, taking a seat on a cheap wooden bench next to an exhibit on a particularly violent case Metro Man took once.

"Don't. Just don't."

I could honestly tell you I would have preferred it if Bernard was angry, if the look in his eyes was smouldering instead of emotionless. It would have been less scary if he looked haunted, instead of blank and just plain tired. I sit hesitantly next to Bernard, mindful of the space between us.

"I'm sorry?" I offer weakly, unsure of what I did wrong. It's silent for so long that I think Bernard isn't going to reply at all, but eventually he does.

"Stay away from the topic of my family," Bernard mutters, passing his hand over his face. "And I'll stay off the topic of yours."

"Deal," I say almost immediately. It's a good thing he offered that truce, because it'd be a shame to lose his friendship. No matter how annoying he gets. Bernard rises to his feet.

"We have a dinosaur exhibit in the next hall. Terribly clichéd, but there you go."

"That sounds…great," I say slowly, staring at Bernard. He's avoiding my eyes, a slight frown still marring his face.

"Let's go."

Word of advice for the future? You'd be surprised how agreeable a man can get when you find his weakness.

* * *

Bernard is surprisingly pleasant for the rest of the trip. Well, as pleasant as a man like Bernard can get. He doesn't tell me I'm weird and stops looking at me like I'm a museum exhibit to be studied. Though he still rolls his eyes a lot and questions my sanity. We'll have to work on that.

The museum trip winds up reasonably quick after that. It's not like there's much to see, after all. So after bidding Bernard goodbye, I leave for home. Roxanne is fussing around with the stove when I return, something a noxious orange colour bubbling away in a pot. Despite the colour, the smell is exotic and makes my mouth water.

"Hello, Gracie," Roxanne greets me happily, flashing me a blinding grin. "You hungry?"

"No," I lie, even as my stomach growls in protest. Roxanne doesn't acknowledge it, even though we both know she heard it.

"Oh, Grace," Roxanne laughs thinly, her smile dimming in brightness somewhat. Some watt. Oh Christ that was so lame. "You've always had a small appetite, haven't you?"

But she's lying and we both know it.

* * *

In another part of Metro City, someone else's dinner is cooking away. The main difference lies in the fact that he cooks for one, and his dinner is microwavable. As it spins in a lazy circle in the microwave, he wanders into the next room, sitting heavily on his bed. He has a simple apartment – furnished with only the bare necessities – but he doesn't care. Anything to get away from the hellhole he grew up in. As he sits, he bitterly muses on a conversation he's eavesdropped on.

'_Why would I like _him_? He's so…emotionless…and blank…it's like he grew up emotionally crippled or something. His cousin told me he's autistic.'_

'_I hear his family hates him.'_

'_You don't need to hear that to believe it. Ever seen him around his sister?'_

His sister. Perfect, _darling _Genevieve. The spoilt little brat.

'_You're not totally emotionally crippled…'_

Maybe there's hope. But then he recalls the 'advice' carved into his childhood bed by his cousins.

'_Don't get your hopes up.'_

Maybe they're right. Maybe they're wrong.

Something pops in the microwave and he winces as the fire alarm wails like an injured animal. And maybe he'll get better at cooking.

* * *

**OH GAWD I'M SO SORRY ABOUT THE WAIT. I just felt like this was a major pivotal point in the story and I couldn't get it right. I'm still not happy with the final product, but I figured I might as well upload it for my readers. The next chapter will be uploaded in maybe a week or two, I promise!**

**In other news, I was at the airport and saw a guy who looked like an asian version of Bernard. I was like 'OHAI BERNARD! :D". He had this crocodile skin bag that looked so FUNNAY. Now to find someone who shares the same race as Bernard.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything except Grace.**

* * *

"Museum girl!" Keith greets me cheerfully. "What's up?"

"Unoriginal-nickname-giver!" I return equally cheerfully. "Not much!"

Keith laughs as he finishes filling up the container of marshmallows. He swipes a few, stuffing a couple in his mouth. "Touché. Want one?"

"Sure," I accept, taking it from him and popping one in my mouth. It's soft and squishy and brings back memories of my momma serving me her homemade hot chocolate with marshmallows and whipped cream. Haha just kidding. That was really Roxanne she served it to. "Did you find your wallet?"

"Yup!" Keith says brightly as Richard flips the sign on the door from CLOSED to OPEN. "It was in my shoe."

"…I'm not even going to ask."

"Oh, I-"

"I SAID I'M NOT GOING TO ASK!" I shriek, clapping my hands over my ears. Keith continues his story, but louder so I can (unfortunately) hear him. The door opens and closes as customers enter the shop and Keith and I fall into our usual routines.

Apart from when Keith tries to shove his disgusting, shoe-scented wallet in my face.

"That is _not_ sanitary!" I yelp, staggering backwards. Keith lets out an evil laugh.

"Don't try to escape King Wallet, Museum Girl!" Before I can do something like hit Keith with the espresso machine, he stops and blinks at the door. "Hey, that's my sister. What's she doing here?"

I glance up at the entrance, where one of Keith's beautiful, willowy sisters is pushing the door open. It's…Sarah, I think. The youngest one. Shouldn't she be at school?

"Sarah!" Keith says happily, leaning over the counter to kiss his sister on the cheek. "What are you doing here?"

"We ran out of cat food!" Sarah chirps back, her large eyes crinkled up as she smiles. There's a little freckle at the corner of her eye that, when she smiles, looks like a heart. "So Lynette dropped me off at the pet store to order some on the way to work. I thought I'd drop by."

"You can stay here if you want," Keith offers immediately. I smile at his brotherly concern over her. "Come on, I'll buy you a hot chocolate."

"I want a coffee," Sarah argues. Her eyelashes are so long that when she looks up at Keith, they nearly touch her eyebrows.

"No!" Keith snaps. "It stunts your growth!"

Sarah's mouth drops open. "No fair! Jamie lets me drink coffee!"

"She does not, you little liar. She hates coffee."

The siblings begin to bicker. I only listen for a few minutes, then a metal more attractive shows up.

"Hi, Bernard," I greet, smiling hesitantly at him as he drops a fistful of money on the counter. I elbow Keith harshly, who starts preparing the drink even while arguing with Sarah.

"Grace," Bernard returns, nodding at me. There's a colourful flyer stuffed into his jacket pocket. I eye it curiously.

"What's that?"

"Hm?" Bernard glances at the flyer, frowning as he takes it out of his pocket. "Oh, something the museum is organising. Last-ditch attempt at raising funds."

I smooth out the crinkled piece of paper, reading it.

_Could you beat a__n ornithomimid in a race?_

_How many people __can you fit in a blue whale's mouth?_

_Can you guess how __Alexander the Great died? (PS. They don't call him Alexander the Grape for nothing!)_

_Find __out the answers to these questions and more at the Festival of Trivia, taking place this Tuesday from nine to five! Bring a friend! Bring a drink! Enjoy some fun in the sun with dinosaurs, mummies and Julius Caesar! Food and beverages will be sold!_

"That's corny," I comment lightly, turning the flyer over. There's a crossword puzzle on the back. "This should be fun." I scan the clues, then frown when I notice something odd. "Hey, Bernard. 2 across. Who was Ramesses III's successor?"

"What about it?" Bernard asks carelessly, accepting the black sludge in a cup from Keith.

"His successor was Ramesses IV," I point out. "If they're spelling it R-A-M-E-S-S-E-S, then that's ten letters, not including the space. They only give you nine letters. Did they mean Ramesses II? His successor was Merneptah, which is nine letters."

Bernard's head snaps around. "What? Give me that." He snatches the flyer back from that, scanning it. His eyes widen in shock. "You're right. It _is_ supposed to be Ramesses II."

"I thought so," I agree, my head bobbing up and down. "It looked odd, that's all."

"You're such a nerd." Keith rolls his eyes at me.

"Shut up," I snap in return. Bernard is still staring at the paper in shock.

"But…_I_ wrote that crossword…"

Well that changes everything. Keith and I exchange awkward glances. I turn back to Bernard. "It's probably just a typo. It's only one extra I."

Bernard only stares at the paper some more. Then he seems to realise he's not alone. He crumples up the flyer and stuffs it back into his pocket. "Yes, well, no matter. No one will come anyway."

Sarah peeks at the flyer from where she's standing. "Hey, my homeroom class is going to that! We won Trivia Night so we get to go there for the whole day."

"What a prize," Keith comments sarcastically, before wincing when I step on his foot and glare at him. "I mean, sounds cool! Bernard's museum sure knows how to live."

Sarah beams and I nod wistfully. "It _does_ sound good…want to go, Keith?"

"Can't," Keith chirps, not sounding regretful at all. "Gotta go to the kitty litter factory that day. We buy in bulk," he adds, seeing my weird look. I groan.

"But I really want to go! And it say bring a friend, and apart from you the only person I know is-" I break off awkwardly, glancing at Bernard. Bernard is sipping at his drink, staring steadfast into the distance. Keith doesn't seem to pick up on the awkwardness and claps excitedly.

"Well that's it then! You can go with Bernard!"

"Keith!" I hiss, embarrassed. "Don't be stupid!"

"What?" Keith asks, looking honestly befuddled. "You wanted to go. Bernard can take you."

"He probably doesn't even want to go," I snap. "It's his work."

"You don't know that," Keith fires back. He turns to Bernard. "Right, Bernard?"

I wait for Bernard to flat-out reject the idea. I'm surprised when Bernard shrugs and cocks an eyebrow at me. "I _will_ be there anyway."

"So it's settled!" Keith says brightly, oblivious of how much I want to kill him and send his severed head to his family. "You'll go with Bernard!"

"Fantastic," Bernard says sarcastically. "I can't wait. Excuse me while I go pick out an outfit in preparation for the joyous occasion."

On that wry little note, Bernard turns around and leaves.

"Is that your boyfriend, Grace?" Sarah asks curiously as the door clicks shut. "He doesn't seem to like us."

"He's not my boyfriend," I say automatically, staring after him. Through the glass, I can see him cross the street. "And he's like that with everyone."

"Oh." Sarah ponders my statement. I wait patiently. Then… "Do you _want _him to be your boyfriend?"

A cough tears its way out of my throat. "_What_?"

"Alright, squirt," Keith interrupts. "Either get a hot chocolate, or leave. What'll it be?"

"Fine," Sarah says grudgingly. She's forgotten about Bernard, but the damage has been done. What _would_ it be like with Bernard as my boyfriend?

Actually, I think a more accurate question would be 'What would it be like to _have_ a boyfriend?' That's depressing though, so I'm going to stick with my original question.

What _would_ it be like with Bernard as my boyfriend?

That's marginally better.

* * *

I end up going back to Keith's house for afternoon tea. Anna is, contrary to my expectations, delighted to see me. Microwave is even more delighted. I help Keith feed the million and one cats. One of them has a scar going across its face and a hole in its ear. It bites me. Then it licks me. Then bites me again. Oh, cats.

"You smell like cat," Roxanne states when I come home, wrinkling her pert little nose.

"You smell like camera," I fire back, even though it makes no sense whatsoever. I head to the kitchen for a drink. As I do so, I think about the events of today. Tuesday should be…interesting, to say the least.

"_Excuse me while I go pick out an outfit in preparation for the joyous occasion."_

"Roxanne!" I shout, exiting the kitchen. "Can you take me shopping?" It has absolutely nothing to do with Bernard though.

* * *

The next day Bernard doesn't drop by the Bean Baby, so on my day off I go to him.

"Excuse me," I request timidly, stopping in front of the receptionist, a waif of a girl not much older than me. "Um, do you know where I could find Bernard?"

"Bernard Green?" the girl asks in a bored manner, not even lifting her gaze. Oh it's okay it's not like I'm worthy of eye contact or anything, you spoilt bitch. "Yeah. Ancient Aztec exhibit, I think."

"Thank you," I say, but the girl has already returned to filing her nails into lethal-looking talons. Well, damn. Seems like whenever I wish I had more friends, girls like her come along and make me feel better about myself. I set off in a random direction, hoping it'll take me to the Ancient Aztec exhibit. As luck would have it, the exhibit I end up in contains a kindly old man who points me to another exhibit with someone who knows the general location of the exhibit. And by general, I mean he knows it's in this museum. At least, he's pretty sure, he thinks. It could also be at the museum across town, of course. After shooting him very mean looks that I plan on perfecting one day to make people cry, I decide randomly wandering the museum is the best strategy. It only takes me five minutes of wandering to find him.

"Your museum has useless staff, you know," I complain to Bernard, sitting on a bench as I watch him record some details about a small, worn tortoise-shell cup.

"Preaching to the choir," Bernard mutters distractedly, using his pencil to tilt the cup.

"What are you doing?" I ask curiously, cocking my head.

"We're selling this to cover the deposit needed for the tents and tables," Bernard answers. "It should fetch maybe two or three grand if we're lucky."

I have no idea about the value of ancient articles, so I wisely keep quiet. Eventually Bernard is done and he sits next to me.

"Did you come here for a reason, or am I your only friend?"

It's almost impossible to like Bernard sometimes, when he comes along and does something like this.

"A little from column A, a little from column B," I say sarcastically. Bernard is still looking at the notes he made about the cup.

"Did you know…" Bernard begins after a few moments of silence. "The tortoise-shell cup was brought to the markets by pochtecas?"

"I _know_," I say, rolling my eyes. "I love the Aztecs."

Bernard raises an eyebrow. "Maybe you aren't completely hopeless after all."

Note that I said _almost_ impossible to like him. Bernard's watch goes off then, beeping like a cricket on speed. He checks it and rises.

"It's my lunch hour."

I beam. "Excellent! What are we eating?"

Bernard stares at me, nonplussed. "What are you talking about?"

"I figured since I'm here, we can go out to eat!" I say brightly, but my smile fades when I see Bernard's stare. "U-Um…but only if you want to…"

"I usually just eat my lunch in my office," Bernard states blandly. It's a small opening, but I take it.

"Then today can be a change. There's that café just around the corner from here."

"My, my, eating at rival food joints?" Bernard asks, raising an eyebrow. He starts walking though, which I take as a good sign.

"I'm sure Richard will understand!" I say, unable to keep a little bit of cheerfulness leaking through. "I can't boycott _every_ café, after all."

We stop outside an office. Bernard haphazardly throws the clipboard into the room, turning away before he can see where it lands. Ah, yes, the classic 'If I don't see it, it doesn't affect me' ploy. I would be lying if I said I was unfamiliar with it. The mess inside still shocks me though. Files, papers, and boxes fill the office. I can barely see Bernard's desk.

"Jesus motor-boating Christ!" I cry, eyes bugged out at the mess. "This looks like _my_ room!"

"You're not here to critique me," Bernard says flatly, but I detect a note of defensiveness in his voice. "Now let's go."

Bernard turns around and leaves. I follow him, but not before casting one last glance over my shoulder at Bernard's office.

* * *

**Okay, I know I said a week. I'm sorry! I've been busy!**

**Also, that 'metal more attractive' bit was from Hamlet. I just finished an essay on it, so my mind is filled with Hamlet and junk.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything except my OC's.**

* * *

The café that Bernard and I end up in is a small little place supposedly inspired by Paris. It isn't as crowded as the Bean Baby usually is around this time of day, which is actually why I thought of it.

"So," Bernard says as we sit down at a table and wait for our food. "You're planning on coming to the trivia festival?"

"Yeah," I reply, feeling a little awkward. For some reason I find it impossible to look at him for more than two seconds. Well, this _is _the most intimate setting we've been in so far. "It should be fun."

"Not really," Bernard says flatly. "The museum is marketing it towards children. The place will be filled with little brats with sticky hands."

I can't help but laugh at the sullen expression on his face. "Do you really hate children or something?"

"I hate everyone." is Bernard's oh-so-cheerful answer. That's so cheerful, it belongs on a shirt. We laps into silence as the waitress brings our food. The waitress avoids our eyes as she places the food in front of us and even when she's done she just keeps twisting her apron in her hands.

"D-Do you need anything else?" she asks, looking like she's praying desperately for us to say no. Well it's her lucky day. After Bernard sends her a withering glare, she practically trips over herself in her effort to run away.

"You sure know how to pick places," Bernard says so blandly that it has to be sarcastic.

"I like this place," I protest, looking down at my quiche. Christ, I hate quiche! Why did I order it? "It's…quaint."

"It's nothing like how Paris really is," Bernard says flatly, piercing his own quiche with his fork.

Oh right.

That's why.

"You've been to Paris?" I ask curiously, poking at my food. Bernard shrugs.

"It was part of an exchange program I undertook in college. The French countryside is filled with history. It just seemed…logical."

"What do you even do?" I demand. I've known him for a couple weeks, and I've even visited him at work. But I still don't know what he does.

"That's none of your business," Bernard says, returning to his food. Our conversation fizzles out after that. I end up watching the small TV in the corner of the café. It's a weird little cartoon thing with people with gravity-defying hair and impossibly high pain thresholds. The TV screen suddenly turns black. When it turns on again, it's featuring a man with blue skin and a strangely large head.

"Greetings, Metro City!" he booms. Only he pronounces it 'metrosity' instead. "It is I, Megamind; incredibly handsome criminal genius and master of all villainy!"

The mousy waitress from before drops her tray. It clatters on the floor; the only sound in the silent café.

"Who's that?" I whisper to Bernard, who looks somewhere between bored and amused.

"Didn't you hear him?" Bernard asks. "It's Megamind; incredibly handsome criminal genius and master of all villainy."

I shoot him a dirty look. Smart ass.

"He's the city's residential villain," Bernard says after a few seconds where the only sound is Megamind ranting. "Metro Man's arch nemesis. Favourite hobbies include destroying city property, making kids cry and long walks on the beach."

"He looks like a joke," I say flatly, watching as he gets too close to the camera and bangs against it.

"He isn't," Bernard says and I detect a note of anger in his voice. "He's a supervillain, a genius, the brightest mind on the planet."

"He's got the head for it," I joke, gesturing to Megamind's giant head. Something flashes in Bernard's eyes.

"Well if he's such a joke, how come he's managed to kidnap your sister so many times?"

I stop joking. "_What_?"

As if on cue, Megamind withdraws from the camera, revealing Roxanne tied up in a chair with a bag on her head. A strange-looking mechanical robot thing with a fish bowl – complete with the fish _in it _– for a head steps forward and lifts the bag off her head. Roxanne starts coughing, shaking her head furiously.

"Behold!" Megamind shouts dramatically, flourishing his hand at Roxanne. "Your beloved _Roxanne Ritchi_!"

Megamind suddenly isn't funny anymore.

"Why does that smell like _cheeseburgers_?" Roxanne splutters, her nose wrinkled. Megamind falters.

"I-I felt like McDonalds and – that's not the point! You're trapped, Miss Ritchi, and no matter how many times you beg for mercy I won't let you go!"

"I'm not," Roxanne snaps, and I feel very much like shaking her for being so impertinent to the supervillain who is holding her hostage. "Did you really have to do this now? I have to work, you know. Can you next time aim for a weekend?"

"Ooh, that's a no go," the fish-thing pipes up, shaking his head. "Saturdays is when the outlet we buy our stuff from has clearance sales, and Sundays is manly movie nacho day! It's when we-"

"MINION!" Megamind booms, turning on him. "Must you do that?"

Minion looks abashed. "Sorry."

They're both distracted when something comes flying through the ceiling. When the dust clears, Metro Man is standing there. He flashes them a brilliant smile.

"Sorry I'm late. My TV was out."

"So we meet again, Metro Man," Megamind hisses. He whips out a laser gun with a flourish. "But I'm afraid this rescue shall be your last!"

I'm on the edge of my seat as I watch Megamind and Metro Man fight. The fight is over pretty quickly, with Metro Man emerging the victor. He unties Roxanne in a nanosecond, sweeping her off her feet and carrying her bridal style.

"There's no need to fear anymore, Roxanne. You're going to be alright."

"I wasn't-"

Metro Man flies off into the sky and the TV screen changes back to normal. I turn back to Bernard, who is looking over the bill.

"You know, I don't think I'll come back here," Bernard comments idly when he sees me looking at him. "The prices are too steep."

* * *

"I don't see why it's such a big deal," Roxanne defends, crossing her arms over her chest. As soon as I had returned home, I had sought Roxanne out straight away. "He does it all the time."

"He's a freaking supervillain, Roxie!" I shout furiously. How can she be so calm about this? "What if something happened to you?"

"Nothing will happen to me," Roxanne says so flippantly that I want to slap her. "Metro Man always rescues me. Besides, Megamind is so predictable. He could never hurt me, he's so…clichéd."

"Thank you, Louis Lane," I say sarcastically. "But just because someone is unoriginal doesn't mean they can't hurt you!"

"You overestimate his abilities as a villain," Roxanne retorts. "It's not a big deal. I'm perfectly safe."

"Does mom know?" I ask, not really expecting an answer. Roxanne surprises me by looking at me as if I'm insane.

"Of course she knows, Grace, she's my mother."

And of course my mother wouldn't tell me about the mortal peril my sister faces on a daily basis.

"Fine, whatever," I growl, turning my back on her. "Go and get yourself killed. I won't miss you."

Roxanne doesn't reply, but I know by the sharp intake of breath that she heard me.

* * *

"And then what happened?" Keith asks expectantly. I scowl, holding my legs off the floor for a few moments so Keith can vacuum under the couch.

"And then I stormed out. My sister's an idiot! What if she gets hurt?"

Keith is silent for a few moments, then turns off the vacuum and leans against it. "Not to offend you or anything, but Roxanne really isn't in any danger. She actually has been kidnapped loads of times. Megamind has never hurt her. He doesn't even hit her on the head to knock her out. He uses some sort of gas."

I groan, slumping down in the couch. "I don't care. Maybe one of these days he'll snap and kill her."

"Grace," Keith says firmly. "Listen to me. Your sister is in no danger at all. Megamind only uses her to lure Metro Man to him. Sometimes he doesn't even use her! Trust me, she'll be fine."

I huff and turn away. Footsteps make both me and Keith look up. There's a girl standing in the doorway.

"Jamie!" Keith exclaims, rising up. "What're you doing here?"

"Hey, squirt!" Jamie says cheerfully, ruffling Keith's hair. "How's work?"

And so I finally meet the last of Keith's sisters. Jamie isn't as beautiful or elegant as the rest of Keith's sisters. She's a little paler, her face is a little rounder, and her hair is a little messier. She's got glasses and her hair is thrown clumsily up into a ponytail. She looks like someone who would be totally at home in a library, or somewhere equally nerdy. I find myself liking the fact that she was the first of her beautiful sisters to get married.

"Oh, this is Grace Ritchi!" Keith introduces when he sees Jamie staring at me. "Grace, this is my sister Jamie."

"Nice to meet you," I say, feeling like I should be polite. Jamie is still staring at me, eyes lighting up when she places my last name.

"Oh, are you related to Roxanne Ritchi?"

"She's my sister," I say stoutly. Jamie looks surprised.

"But you look nothing like her!"

Well thank you, Jamie, for that little reminder that posses none of my sister's beauty. Though she's right. While we have the same colour hair and eyes, that's where the similarities end. I can't really be bothered doing anything withmy hair (including cutting it), so it falls down to my mid-back. It's also messy as hell. There's also the fact that Roxanne has enough curves for both of us, while I have enough for maybe a ten year old. My mother always said Roxanne took all the best genes and I got the leftovers.

"Real nice, Jamie," Keith says sarcastically when I don't reply. "Besides, like you're one to talk."

Jamie laughs sheepishly. "Oh, that's true I suppose. I'm sorry if I offended you, Grace."

"No offence taken," I lie, even adding a forced smile. It fools Jamie, who turns away, but not Keith, who looks at me warily. I smile half-heartedly back at him and he nods, turning to Jamie.

"Mom and dad aren't here right now. It's just Grace and I."

"Oh, that's fine." Jamie waves a dismissive hand. "I didn't need to see all of you today. I just came to drop something off."

"Oh really?" Keith blinks at Jamie. "What?"

Jamie smiles grimly as she bends down and drags a box into view. "This."

A pitiful meow comes from the box. I gasp. "Oh my god, is that a cat?"

Jamie nods as Keith kneels down and opens the box. "Yeah. I found it in the alley behind my apartment. We're not allowed pets in our apartment, so my first thought was to bring it here."

"Her."

Jamie glances over at Keith. "What?"

"Her," Keith repeats, holding up the kitten. It's so small it can fit in his cupped hands. "It's a girl. OW!" The kitten bites his hand and Keith accidentally drops it. The kitten dashes off as soon as it hits the ground and cowers under the couch.

"What are you going to do with it?" I ask Keith, who is nursing his wound with a mournful expression. He shrugs.

"Keep it, I guess? We have no choice."

"I'm really sorry about dumping it on you," Jamie tells Keith sincerely. "But I didn't know where else to bring it."

"It's fine," Keith says, but his voice his flat. "We'll just have to-"

I gasp when I feel something brush the back of my ankle. I bend over and look under the couch. The kitten is _extremely_ close to me, so close that its whiskers are touching me. It mews when it sees me looking at it and skitters back a few inches. Jamie and Keith are silent as they observe me. Soon Jamie breaks the silence.

"Keith. Go to the kitchen and get a can of tuna and a fork."

Keith doesn't look surprised and nods, disappearing for a moment. He reappears holding the afore mentioned items, as well as a box of tissues.

"Grace, I'm sorry if you're squeamish," Jamie says slowly. "But I'm going to need you to hold out your hand."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later finds a very contented kitten sitting on my lap, still licking at my now tuna-scented palm.

"It's so cute," Jamie coos, clasping her hands together. "I wonder where it came from?"

"It looks like it's still a baby," Keith observes. "Maybe a few weeks old even."

I absentmindedly run my fingers through the kitten's dusty fur. The siblings discuss the kitten a little longer, then fall into silence. The silence is only broken when the front door opens and Anna comes sailing through.

"Well, the store was out of the litter brand we usually buy but-" Anna breaks off when she sees the kitten on my lap. Anna stares at it for a long time, then turns to Keith. When she sees Jamie, her eyes narrow. "Keith! Jamie! You two explain, _right_ _now_!"

* * *

**OH MAH GOD GUYS. BEN STILLER IS BERNARD'S VOICE ACTOR. WHO KNEW THAT? I DIDN'T. AND WE COULD HAVE HAD ROBERT DOWNEY JR AS MEGAMIND'S VOICE ACTOR. HOW HOT WOULD THAT HAVE BEEN? ARGH.**

**But that's weird. I can't imagine Megamind with Robert Downey Jr's voice. ಠ_ಠ**

**And yes, there is a kitten now. I don't remember my reasoning why. All I know is that it stays. Why? Because it can. Any ideas for names?**

**Review please :D**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything except my OC's.**

**Guess who just graduated high school?**

**Bam.**

* * *

I watch as Anna runs a wet cloth over the kitten's fur.

"How come you can't just give it a bath?" I ask curiously, stroking the distressed kitten to calm it down.

"Kitten's don't like water," Anna explains, smoothing the cloth over the dusty fur. "We like to train our kittens to like baths. So we have to take it little by little. I can only maybe wash its feet today. Tomorrow I'll do its legs, the day after I'll do the lower half of its body, and so on and so forth."

I nod thoughtfully as Anna finishes cleaning the kitten. She stands up. "Could you please pick up the kitten and follow me? It's time to wash its feet."

I must look completely clueless, because Keith steps forward and demonstrates how to hold a kitten, using Microwave as an example. Soon I'm holding the cat awkwardly above a shallow container filled with very warm water.

"Just dunk her feet into the water," Anna instructs carefully. "No more than its feet. It'll get scared."

I obey, but the kitten seems to get scared anyway. She meows and starts to struggle.

"Hold her there for a few more seconds," Anna says firmly. Hearing the kitten meow like that breaks my heart, but I force myself to withstand it. Finally Anna gives me the okay to take the cat out and Anna dries the kitten's feet with a fluffy hand towel. The kitten is making distressed little mewls and I hug it.

"Keith!" Anna orders, placing the towel in the laundry hamper. "Go get the kitty treats!"

Keith runs to obey his mother. Anna sighs, pushing her hair out of her face.

"Now, the only question is what to do with this little one."

"What do you mean?" I ask fearfully. "You aren't sending it away, are you?"

"Grace, as long as I have breath in my body, I will never send a cat away from this house," Anna says firmly. "No, our problem is that this kitten seems to have gotten attached to you. It won't even let me hold it. Are you sure you can't adopt a cat?"

I shake my head. "No, I'm really sorry but I can't. Roxanne's apartment isn't allowed."

Anna sighs. "Well then I'm not sure what I can do. The kitten can stay here, of course, but it'll be awfully sad…"

"Mama," Jamie pipes up, startling me. "I have an idea. Grace can adopt the kitten, but the kitten can stay here. She can visit it every day, even stay over some days…"

"Jamie, that's a wonderful idea!" Anna exclaims, looking relieved. "Grace, how does that sound?"

I open my mouth to decline – I can't adopt a _kitten_, I don't even live in Metro City! – but my voice disappears when I stare at the kitten looking pitifully up at me. Its bright green eyes are so sad and _big_ that I almost feel like crying. So when I open my moth to say no, I'm surprised when instead my voice says, "Definitely."

* * *

I try to get away with just a text to Roxanne, but she calls me immediately.

"Grace?"

"Er…the number you have called is unavailable," I say in my best imitation of an electronic voice. "Please leave a message after the beep. _Beeeeeeeeeeeep_."

"Grace!" Roxanne snaps. Her voice is angry and slightly hurt. "I know it's you."

Crap. I sigh. "What is it, Roxie?"

"Why aren't you coming home? Whose house are you sleeping over at?" It figures that what makes Roxanne suspicious is the fact that I might possibly know someone.

"It's Keith's," I answer unenthusiastically, accepting the pyjamas Stacey hands to me. I wait for her to leave so that I can change, but she sits on the bathtub edge and watches me. I turn around uncomfortably.

"_Keith_? You're staying over at a boy's house?"

Sudden pricks of pain in my leg catches my attention. I look down and see that the little kitten is trying to climb up my leg, sinking its needle-sharp kitten claws into my leg.

"Ow, ow, ow," I mumble, trying to unhook the kitten from my leg. "Get off, please…"

"What?" Roxanne asks, sounding confused.

"Roxanne, I have to go," I say, trying to sound regretful and probably failing miserably. "See you tomorrow."

"Grace-"

_Click_.

I finally succeed in detaching the kitten from me and set it on the floor again. It meows and rubs against my leg.

"If I had a famous sister, I'd be thrilled," Stacey says suddenly, staring at me with her large dark eyes. I grimace.

"Trust me, you don't want one. It's hell."

Stacey is still looking at me intently. "No, I don't think it would be."

Before I can say anything, Stacey stands and leaves the bathroom.

* * *

"I'm surprised your parents are okay with me staying in here," I tell Keith as I smooth out the blanket on my mattress. I don't know whose pyjamas I'm wearing, but they hang _very _loosely on me. I have to roll up the sleeves and pants several times just to function properly. Keith's room is almost as messy as the rest of the house. There are dirty clothes _everywhere_, and the ratio of cats to clothes is almost horrifically large.

Keith does a bellyflop onto his bed, sending several sleeping cats bouncing up and down. He grins at me. "It's because they know that no one in this house can try anything without the cats interrupting. Lynette tried to smuggle her boyfriend in once. The cats all piled on top of them before so much as a sock could be taken off."

I snort at the imagery. "Classy."

Keith peers over the edge of his bed at me. "Hey, what are you going to name that kitten?"

I look down at the sleeping ball of calico fur on my pillow. "I'm not sure…I've always been terrible with names. I named my pet rock Slipper once."

"What the hell?" Keith asks, looking at me oddly. "Slipper? Did you just look around and name it after the first thing you saw?"

"You can't talk, you named your cat Microwave!" I retort lamely. Keith and I bicker for a little while longer, then fall into a silence. He speaks again as I'm running a finger down the kitten's bony spine.

"How about something to do with history? You like that sort of stuff, right?"

I look at Keith in surprise. That's actually a good idea.

"You could name it…like…Cleopatra or Anastasia or something," Keith offers. I smirk at his limited historical knowledge and look down at my kitten.

"I think I'll call her…Bast."

Keith's brow furrows. "Like…short for bastard?"

"No!" I snap, throwing a bundled up t-shirt at him. "Like the Egyptian Goddess of cats, daughter of-"

"I'll take your word for it," Keith interrupts my tirade hurriedly, holding up his hands defensively. "It's a suitable cat name."

I touch the kitten – Bast – gingerly. She lets out a purr and curls into my finger.

"Yeah…" I whisper, awed at how small and insignificant Bast seems on my pillow. "Suitable…"

* * *

"Are you aware that your shirt is more cat fur than fibre?" Bernard asks tonelessly as he throws some money at me. It clatters noisily on the counter and I pick it up, shoving it in the cash register.

"Yeah, I stayed over at Keith's on the weekend and he's got an unhealthy amount of cats."

"Haters be hatin'," Keith says cheerfully as he prepares Bernard's drink for him.

"You stayed at his house all weekend," Bernard says flatly, cocking an eyebrow at me. Do people not do this in Metro City? Did I commit some sort of faux pas? Christ, I wouldn't know. Roxanne and our mother were the ones who visited Metro City all the time when we were younger. I stayed in my room while they were gone.

"Yeah," I answer, handing Bernard's drink to him. The boiling liquid burns my fingertips even through the cardboard cup and I withdraw my hand almost as soon as Bernard touches the cup. "We watched movies and played with the cats."

I see Bernard's lip curl. "Oh. Cats. Hm."

"What have you got against cats?" Keith asks indignantly, leaning on the counter with one arm. Bernard returns Keith's scowl with a bland look of his own.

"Oh, nothing. They just fail to amuse me."

"Everything fails to amuse you," Keith retorts and I smirk.

"Very true. What's wrong with cats? Did one traumatize you or something?"

Bernard hesitates a moment too long. My mouth drops open.

"It _did_! Omigod! Is that why you hate cats?"

"Cats are demonic," Bernard says so tonelessly that it sounds like he's reading it out of a textbook. However he still has a hint of defensiveness in his voice, which makes me smile.

"What happened?"

Another hesitation, but eventually Bernard answers. "When I was younger, my aunt called a family reunion. One of my cousins had a cat and he thought it would be funny to set the cat on me. I still have the scars from it."

My mouth drops open (again) and Keith looks surprised. "Well, _damn_. What a little brat. Did you clock him?"

Bernard sends him a withering look in return. "My cousin was five years older than me and twice my size. I did not 'clock him', as you say."

Keith holds up his hands defensively. "Just asking. Grace, I'm gonna…go over here for a moment. You two can chill for a while."

Ignoring the fact that we have customers to serve, Keith very graciously ducks behind into the storerooms. Speaking of which, where the hell is Richard? I can't imagine having one employee missing and one chatting to a customer would look very good for him. Ah well.

"How old were you when the cat attacked you?" I ask curiously, watching Bernard fiddle with the lid on his cup. He busies himself with drinking a long gulp of the black sludge, but eventually answers me.

"I believe I was about three."

I gape at him. "What the _hell_, Bernard? Why would your cousin do that to you?"

Bernard shrugs roughly. I think I've touched on one of his sore spots again. "I wouldn't know, I'm not my cousin. My lunchbreak is nearly over, I should get back to the museum."

"Wait, Bernard-" I begin, but Bernard is already heading out the door. I sigh and rest my elbow on the counter. Why are some men so hard to figure out?

* * *

"So your museum festival thingy is tomorrow, isn't it?" Keith asks brightly as we drive to his house after work (again). I nod, flipping absentmindedly through a manga I found wedged in between the seat and the door.

"Yuh-huh. You should go."

"Sounds tempting, but no. I tend to avoid frequenting places my sisters will be."

I glance at him. What a weird thing to say. Not that I'm not the same way, but I despise my sister in a way that Keith never will. "Why?"

"Because my social life and my family life are two lives I keep separate," Keith tells me, swinging hazardously into a street. "Just like my work life and my sex life."

I stare at him, hoping – _wishing _– I had misheard. "Uh, and now you are going to keep your social life and your sex life separate. Ew." Because I don't need any extra incentive to see Keith in a sexual way. I prefer to keep him strictly in the friend zone.

"What?" Keith asks, befuddled. He takes his gaze off the road to stare at me in confusion and only returns it when I screech at him to keep his eyes on the freaking road before he gets us killed. "Why? Don't you talk about your sex life with your friends?"

I return my gaze to the manga and flip through a few pages. I choose not to answer. There's a few moments of silence before Keith interprets it.

"No way. You're a…virgin?"

"What the _hell_, Keith?" I yowl, throwing my manga down and whipping around to glare at him. "Don't just blurt that out! God!"

Keith starts cracking up. "Ha! You're a unicorn!"

"What?" I ask coldly, because I'm no expert in Keith-talk but what the hell does that even mean?

"They say that teenage virgins are unicorns, because they're so rare," Keith elaborates, still giggling in a very manly way.

"I'm not a teenager, Keith."

"Then you must be a golden unicorn!" Keith says like it makes perfect sense. I stare at him for a while.

"Were you dropped on the head as a baby? Or did the midwife just try to catch you with a blender?"

"Ouch, Grace," Keith declares as he swings into the driveway of his house. "Cuts like a knife. Really does."

I just scowl at him and step out of the car. There's an unholy racket coming from the house – a mixture of demon-like noises and human shouts. Keith hurries past me and through the door, dodging several cats on his way in.

"Mom? Is everything okay?"

"Close the door!" someone screams back and I instinctively shut it with my foot. Not a moment later a colourful blur shoots past Keith and I and slams into the door. As it lays there, dazed, I finally see the source of all the commotion.

"Hey, Bast! You been a good kitty for Keith's family?"

Bast mews happily as I pick her up and nuzzle her in the way I see Keith do to all his cats. Running footsteps sound and Anna appears, her hair in flyaway strands around her face and her skin littered with shallow scratches. Her face breaks out into a tired smile when she sees me.

"Oh, Grace! I didn't know you were coming over today! How was work, dear?"

"It was fine," I answer as another one of Keith's sisters comes running in behind Anna. Unfortunately, due to both the sheer amount of cat fur on the slippery tiled floor and the fact that she's wearing socks, she ends up skidding and crashing into a table. She lets loose a string of unladylike curses that make me blush, Keith look amused and Anna look disapproving.

"Lynette! Now I know I didn't teach you that!"

"But it fucking – sorry, freaking – hurts like a b- like a sucker," Lynette mumbles, rubbing her curvy hip. Anna sends her one more disapproving stare, then bustles into the kitchen. Lynette waits until she's gone, then mutters another string of curses. These ones make Keith release a high-pitched giggle.

"Big sister. That's naughty."

Lynette fixes Keith with a glare. "I won't tell if you don't."

"Fair enough!" Keith says cheerfully, grabbing my wrist and bounding into the kitchen. Anna is putting away stacks of plates and cutlery. "Mom, do we have any ice cream left?"

"No, but if it's free time that you have, go feed Bast," Anna replies swiftly, waving a spatula at him. "She's been running around since you two left and she's probably tired."

* * *

I watch as Keith spreads a folded towel across his lap and places a wriggling Bast on it. A bottle of warm milk replacer sits by his side. I stroke Bast with one finger and she calms down slightly, curling into my finger.

"Don't distract her," Keith orders, lightly batting my finger away.

"But she's so cute," I protest, but obey him and sit back. Keith eases Bast's head into the palm of his hand and guides the bottle into Bast's mouth. Almost immediately Bast starts suckling on the bottle.

"There we go," Keith says, grinning as he strokes the back of Bast's head. Bast's eyes flutter shut and she begins kneading Keith's leg. As I watch Keith feed Bast and listen to the sound of Bast's rhythmic sucking, I feel my eyelids begin to shut.

When they open again, I'm curled up in the back of Keith's car and he's driving along the road back to Roxanne's apartment. Lynette is sitting in the passenger seat of the car, chatting to Keith in low tones.

"She's so different to her sister," Lynette is whispering, and I have to muffle a sigh when I realise they're talking about me. "I mean, when I first saw her I was like…shit. It's so fucking weird."

"Like we can all talk though," Keith replies, rolling his eyes. "Look at our siblings. We have little baby Sarah, Miss Bossy, and _you_. You're worse than a freaking sailor sometimes."

"I am not!" Lynette protests, her face flushing in the dark. "You're such a little shit, sometimes, Keith."

"Exhibit A," Keith says sarcastically, gesturing to her. Its silent for a little while before Lynette speaks again.

"Tomorrow after you come back from the cat litter factory, you wanna go out for an afternoon snack at the fattiest, greasiest place we can find? My treat."

"Hell, if it's your treat I can hardly say no, can I?" Keith grins, sparing her a quick smirk. And that's when I realise the difference between his sisters and mine. With Roxanne, we don't talk about each other. Simply because it has such little bearing in our lives so we don't bother. Maybe it's also a little bit of being not knowing how to ask. But with Keith and his sisters, they don't speak about each other not because they can't bother, but because they don't need to. They know each other so well that they don't _need_ to confirm facts or second guess each other.

It's lonely, though, having a sister like Roxanne. Each of Keith's sisters are so lovely and kind, but each have a flaw or personality quirk that keeps them from tipping onto perfect. Why can't Roxanne be like that?

I turn over and rest my head on the window, staring gloomily at the lights passing me in a blur.

* * *

That night as I'm trying in vain to get to sleep, I listen to the soft sounds of Roxanne padding around the kitchen. I hear plates clink as she washes up. Eventually I hear the thump of the drawer being closed, but Roxanne doesn't head to her room. Instead a chair scrapes and I hear her sitting on it, letting out a sigh. It sounds a little empty and sad. What could Roxanne possibly be sad about? _Why_ would she even be sad? Her life is perfect. She has everything – a glamorous job as a news reporter, a superhero best friend, parents who love her and a dorky younger sister who makes her look better. Why would she be sad? What else could she want?

I almost manage to get to sleep despite the aching lonely silence coming from the living room. But then I remember something which makes it even harder to sleep due to the excitement.

Tomorrow's the trivia carnival.

* * *

**If anyone wanted to know how Grace went from Keith's house to work, Richard keeps spare uniforms around. She changed in the employee area while Keith stood guard and glowered at anyone who came too close.**

**So I wrote another story about Bernard's background...it'll have spoilers for this story, so I'm hesitant to post it. What do you guys think?**


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything except my OC's.**

**Okay, the crazy talented Dumb Genius has drawn me four pieces of fan art. The link to them is on my profile. And if anyone else wants to draw me stuff, I won't object…**

**(SHIVAUN18 CRAVES ATTENTION IN THE FORM OF REVIEWS AND FAN ART)**

**WHAT WHO SAID THAT**

* * *

I have very short legs.

That is the conclusion I have come to after staring at my outstretched legs for almost half an hour on end. I mean, they don't even reach the opposite counter. How short can my legs even be? I mean, it's not like _I'm _short or anything. I think.

Is that a new hole in my jeans?

"So I notice that you're on the floor," Keith says casually, stepping over me to get to the espresso machine. "I'd just like you to know that I appreciate and respect that."

"That's cool. I don't care."

"In all seriousness, why are you on the floor?" Keith asks, fishing a chocolate chip cookie out of a cookie jar on the bench. I groan, slumping back against the counter.

"I've lost the will to work. I want to go to the trivia carnival!"

Keith nods very seriously. "Well if that's all…" He steps over me once again and ducks his head through the door. "Yo, Richard!" he hollers, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Grace is sick! I'm kicking her out of the café!"

"Write it on the chart," is all Richard says. Keith grins triumphantly and turns back to me.

"Voila!"

I stare at him, bemused. "I…don't know if that's going to come back around to bite me in the ass."

"You're welcome," Keith says cheerfully, winking at me. "Now go get him!"

I get up, but not because Keith told me to or because I'm really, really eager to see Bernard. Because Keith's already writing something on the employee chart and it'd be a waste of time and effort not to leave.

Right?

* * *

_Lord this shirt is uncomfortable._

_That kid is very ugly._

_Why is it so hot today?_

As I walk through the crowds that have already gathered outside the museum, I try to distract myself from how uncomfortably close people are to me by focusing on anything else but the afore mentioned people.

_That guy was all sticky and that's gross. It's called a shower!_

"Shouldn't you be at work?"

The voice is so archly and mocking that I know who it is almost immediately. I turn around. "Is it considered socially acceptable to empty a bottle of water on someone?"

Bernard, to his credit, doesn't even bat an eyelid. "Only if you know them. Or if they're on fire."

I can't help but crack a grin at that. I eye him. "Are you wearing a new suit?"

Bernard rolls his eyes. "I _do_ own more than one suit, you know."

I wait for him to tell me I'm wrong. After a few moments of silence, he rolls his eyes again.

"Yes, I am. We need to keep up appearances. Or something."

"Knew it," I crow, giggling. I decide not to mention that I am also wearing new clothes. They actually look alright on me, but they're uncomfortable as hell. I feel like if I breathe in too much, they might split at the seams. Maybe I'm just not used to clothes that actually fit me though.

"I hope you're not expecting a guided tour today," Bernard tells me frankly. Nice to see that the change of suits didn't bring a change of personalities in everyone's favourite…favourite…what the hell _is_ Bernard? If he's running everything, that'd suggest a high position. But if he was in a high position, that ugly gorilla guy wouldn't be able to bully him.

Wait, Bernard was talking, wasn't he?

"How come?" I want to know, falling into step beside Bernard as he starts walking. Bernard gives me his patented 'are you an idiot or just retarded?' look. God I've been on the receiving end of that look too many times considering I've only known him for, what…like two weeks?

"I have to go around and make sure everything is running smoothly," Bernard explains boredly, tapping his clipboard pointedly with a pencil.

"Hey, do you have a timetable of what's happening today?" I ask curiously. Bernard gives me another one of his Looks (They totally deserve to be capitalised now).

"Of course I do. How else am I going to check everything?"

"Can I see?" I pester. Bernard hands me a sheet of paper and I scan it. The trivia contest is being held once every two hours, but there's little abbreviated things marked all over the timetable as well.

"What the hell does B.B.B.G. mean?" I ask, staring at it oddly.

"Bright Bobby's Box of Games," Bernard answers promptly. I barely hold back a snicker. Barely. "I know. I didn't want to do business with a company with a name like that either. But my superiors insisted, so they've sent down some arcade games."

"Because that has everything to do with history," I say sarcastically. Bernard points his pencil at something near the museum.

"Observe. That used to be a milk bottle toss game."

I follow his gaze, only to blink in bemusement at what I see. Someone's clumsily painted the little balls to look (vaguely) like little meteorites. Instead of knocking down milk bottles, now the player has to knock down milk bottles with dinosaurs taped to them.

"I don't even know why they think that's going to get kids interested in history," I mutter, turning away. Bernard makes a small 'hmm' noise of agreement. We get distracted when someone whistles at us.

"Yo!"

It's a teenager. A boy, to be more accurate. He's grinning inanely and waving a piece of paper. His friends snicker in the background.

"You two look like nerds. Can you help me fill this out?"

"Only because you're so charming," I say sarcastically, but he doesn't hear me and continues.

"Me and my friends all want a free drink!"

I squint at the piece of paper. It's the little flyer that Bernard had stuffed in his pocket. I glance at Bernard. "I didn't know you got a free drink if you completed that."

Bernard shrugs. "No one was showing enough interest so we added it."

"Okay, first question," the boy begins, rustling the paper despite the fact that neither of us agreed to help him. His friends all cluster behind him. "Could I beat an orn-what's-it in a race?"

"Could you outrun a car?" Bernard asks, cocking an eyebrow on him. You could not heap more sarcasm onto his question with a _shovel_. The boy's forehead wrinkles unattractively as he tries to think about the question. It looks like hard work.

"W…what?"

"A real Socrates this one," I mumble to Bernard. Another voice makes us turn around.

"Grace!"

It's Sarah. She's beaming happily at me as she flits over. Her gaze slides past me and lands on the teenager. I'm taken aback at how much her eyes harden.

"Oh. It's _you_."

The boy looks clearly delighted. His friends immensely more so. "Sarah, babe! How you doing?"

"Shut up, Matt," Sarah snaps. "You're cheating. Mrs Patterson said you aren't allowed to ask the museum employees anything!"

Before 'Matt' can say anything, Sarah turns her back on him and drags us away. Her cheeks are a dull pink, from anger or _what_ I don't even know.

"That was interesting," Bernard says tonelessly, pulling his sleeve free from Sarah's hand. Her cheeks darken even more.

"H-He goes to my school. He's a real sleaze bag."

I want to interrogate her about Matt, but Bernard clearly doesn't care and returns to his clipboard. "Right. Whatever. Grace, were you looking for something before I got to you?"

"Looking for something?" I crinkle my nose, then smooth my features out again when I realise I don't want to look like Matt. "Oh wait, no I wasn't. But now I want a free drink. Can I have a flyer?"

"Have them all," Bernard says stonily, slapping them down in my arms. "Less weight for me."

"I see my friends," Sarah says, spotting a group of giggling teenage girls in the distance. "Bye, Grace! It was nice seeing you! You too, Bernard."

"Bye, Sarah," I answer as she darts away. Bernard doesn't even deign to respond to her. It's only once that she's out of sight that he speaks.

"It's too hot out here. Let's go inside and complete the flyers."

"I thought you had to watch over the festival?" I ask, confused. Bernard's shoulders jump in a shrug.

"The place won't fall apart in the hour that I'm inside."

In other words, he doesn't care.

* * *

The inside of the museum is so much cooler than outside that a sigh escapes me. Bernard leads me to a bench in the Ancient Egyptian exhibit and we sit down, spreading the flyers between us.

"How in-depth do these answers need to be?" I ask, tapping my chin with my pencil as I stare at the flyer. Bernard glances up at me.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, like with that question about Alexander the Great," I answer, almost showing it to him before realising that he has about fifty sitting in front of him. "No one really knows exactly how he died, but the most commonly accepted theory is that he died of alcohol poisoning."

Bernard rolls his eyes, returning his gaze to his own flyer as he absentmindedly fills in the crossword on the back. "Just write either one. They'd accept both."

I nod, scribbling it down. We sit there in a peaceful silence for a while, the only noise the sounds of our pencils scratching against the paper. Then the serenity is shattered by a group of noisy kids, followed by their slightly less noisy mother. She's speaking loudly into a phone and doesn't seem worried at all about releasing the kids in a museum. They all run up squealing to a stone sarcophagus, rubbing their hands all over it despite the very obvious sign that prohibits that exact kind of thing. One kid is even stupid enough to try and climb in. I glance at Bernard, who has gone strangely still.

"Aren't you going to do something?"

"I'm not allowed to kill the guests," Bernard says, his lips barely moving. "And I'm afraid that if I have to speak to them, I will be provoked into doing just that."

I've spent enough of my life in museums to know that the oils on the human skin could seriously damage or erode artifacts. So why isn't Bernard doing anything about it?

He sits there for a moment longer, then turns to me and speaks loudly. "Grace, how old were you when you learnt to read?"

I blink at him. "U-Um, I'm not sure…pretty young, I guess?"

"Would you say, before you were between the ages of…oh…four to six years old?" Bernard asks after a surreptitious glance to gauge the ages of the youngest and oldest kids. I finally see what he's doing.

"Oh, definitely. I wasn't stupid. I mean, I knew this kid in elementary school whose mother was so neglectful, he _still_ hadn't learnt to read by the age of four to six years old."

"She must have read signs for the kid though, wouldn't she?" Bernard asks, his voice raising with every word. "I mean, what if there was an important sign that the kid couldn't read?"

"I don't think she did," I say equally loudly. "She was really, really neglectful. She was sort of renowned for that."

"What a horrible mother!" Bernard practically shouts. The mother, her cheeks burning red, pulls her children away from the sarcophagus and ushers them out of the museum. Bernard is in front of the sarcophagus in an instant, eyeing it critically and muttering furiously under his breath. "Stupid little…they could damaged this!"

"Bernard, I'm sure-"

Bernard straightens up so fast I'm convinced I hear his back click. "Those little brats, they did! _There are Pepsi stains on the three thousand year old sarcophagus!"_

I almost fall back in surprise as Bernard paces back and forth in front of me, ranting and raving. "Wow, Bernard, calm down! Can't you clean it?"

Bernard whirls on me, his brown eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "This is the _only_ artifact we have in the _entire _Ancient Egypt exhibit! And now we have to give it up for _days_ while it gets cleaned!"

I gawp at Bernard, who is practically foaming at the mouth from anger. He spins on his heel and marches off, barking for someone named Lincoln. Then when he's gone, I can't help but crack a grin.

He's actually sort of cute when he's angry.

* * *

I'm trading in my sixth flyer for another measly cup of lemonade (that would quench maybe a bug's thirst…) when Bernard returns to me, looking noticeably calmer. There is a slight tic to his eye though.

"I see the wandering traveller returneth," I comment, accepting the cup of lemonade and drinking it. Bernard swipes one of my flyers and soon he too is holding a little cup of lemonade.

"The people we usually go to for artifact cleaning said that they can have it done in two days," Bernard says grouchily. "It's sooner than I expected, but we still have to go two whole days without our star artifact."

"Then go two days without it," I suggest. "But place up another exhibit in its place. Put up some information on the sarcophagus. Little flashing lights. A question-and-answer style thing."

"Your advice has been taken into consideration," Bernard says so mockingly that I know I've gotten him back to normal again. We sit there for a while, trading in flyers for drinks. Eventually my ears pick up the sounds of the 3 o'clock trivia contest.

"_What was discovered in the graves of the first dynasty kings at Abydos that has never been found in the graves of the succeeding dynasties?"_

"Lord what a morbid question," I remark, raising an eyebrow at Bernard. He raises one back at me.

"Do you know the answer?"

"Of course I do," I snap. "Their wives. They were sacrificed to serve their king in the afterlife."

"Nice try, but that's not it," Bernard says. Do I detect a tone of smugness? "They also sacrificed officials, priests and the other women of the royal household. A king is a king, after all."

I flush and open my mouth to retort, but I get distracted by the next question.

"_What happened to Rome in 64 A.D.?"_

My mouth drops open. "The morbid questions just keep coming! Wasn't that the fire that burned almost all of Rome and caused Nero to blame the Christians?"

"Correct this time," Bernard says with a slight mocking tone. "He had several Christian leaders rounded up and tortured, forcing them to name others and leading to a massacre of all the Christians in Rome."

"_What is the oldest surviving set of laws? This one's a tricky one, guys, so I'll give you a set of possibilities! Is it the Hebrew Torah, the Code of Hammurabi, the Shabaka Stone or the Rosetta Stone?"_

"That would be the Code of Hammurabi, wouldn't it?" I ask, furrowing my brow. "It was the one that historians believed to have been the source of that biblical law, 'An eye for an eye'. Some even think that because of that law about throwing an accused person into a river, and if he drowned he was guilty if not he was innocent, it inspired the Salem witch trials tortures…" A light bulb goes off in my head. "Wait a minute, you _so_ wrote these questions! They're so morbid!"

"You know, that's the third time you've said morbid in the last few minutes," Bernard notes disinterestedly. At my glare, he rolls his eyes. "Fine, I did. I thought if I had to get stuck doing such a job, I might as well make it child-inappropriate…"

"_What was the last battle of the Napoleonic Wars? C'mon, guys, anyone with a high school education should know this!"_

"I bet you some idiot is going to pick out the word 'Napoleon' and choose the Battle of Waterloo," I tell Bernard, grinning. We only have to wait for a moment before someone shouts out the afore mentioned battle. A laugh escapes me before I can stop it.

"No one ever remembers the Battle of Wavre," Bernard says, shaking his head. I smirk.

"It _was_ only instigated to stop the French soldiers from reaching the Battle of Waterloo."

It's silent for a moment, before Bernard says casually, "Which Egyptian god had the head of an ibis?"

It takes me a moment to register the question, but once I do the answer comes to my lips immediately. "That's Thoth, the god of the moon and knowledge."

"And the son of Ra," Bernard says, then pauses. "Or the head of Set. Depends which story you're reading."

Silence envelops us once again before I think of a question. "Who made a horse his senator?"

"The Roman Emperor Caligula," Bernard answers promptly. "He was a bit…mad though. Both Philo and Seneca the Younger described him as insane, self-absorbed, murderous, and a nymphomaniac…among other things."

"You didn't even mention that little rumour about him turning the palace into a brothel," I tease. "Forgetting some things in your old age?"

"Well you didn't mention how the afore mentioned horse-senator was also a priest," Bernard fires back. A mad giggle explodes from me.

"I forgot about that! But it's not a very well-known part of his story…"

"Whatever. What was the city symbol of the Ancient Roman port town destroyed by Mount Vesuvius?"

Another mad giggle. "_Bernard_! Are you talking about Pompeii? I can't say that!"

"No one's listening."

"_Bernard!_"

* * *

**YAAAAAAY AN UPDATE! SHIVAUN18'S THE GREATEST! YAAAAY!**

**I'm just joking. I would have updated sooner, but after I finished high school I went to Malaysia for two months to spend Chinese New Year with my relatives. Then university started and…I JUST SPENT TWO HOURS TYPING UP NOTES FOR ONE INTRODUCTORY LECTURE. TWO HOURS.**

**Okay, I actually meant to address this in the last chapter, but. Cat names. I had sorted through them. You guys had voted. So I settled for Bast, which I actually really liked as it's unique, but meaningful. Also Keith could make a stupid joke about it. I actually loved all of the names you guys suggested, but my absolute favourite ones were:**

**Oven (suggested by Ronnie343) **

**Bee or Bug (both suggested by Moon Surfer)**

**Marshmallow (suggested by MythScavenger, who incidentally also suggested Bast)**

**Momo, Astro, Felix or Machi (all suggested by the clearly creative Valeria, who has probably just named the next four cats I will get in my lifetime)**

**I loved them all, but these were my absolute favourite. Actually, I'm pretty sure you've **_**all**_** just given me ideas for the cats I will ever get. So if you ever meet a crazy cat lady whose cats are named Coffee, Bast, Marshmallow, Astro, Felix, Machi, Momo, Bernie, Cleopatra, Bee, Bug, Tasha, Shiro, Oven, Luna, Cookie, Oreo, Furby or Neko…then say hello. Give her a hug. And remind her of the good old days when she lusted over cartoon characters. **

**Now that the cat's stuff out of the way. Two things about this chapter. The first is, I'm not explaining what the answer to Bernard's question is. Google it. And if anyone attacks me in the reviews with the mindset that I AM WRONG AND I WILL ALWAYS BE WRONG, history very rarely has a unanimous view. So there's always two stories about the same thing. That is why I am wrong, and that is the excuse I am using.**

**The second is…I'm terrible about describing clothes without turning stories into shorter versions of Mary Sue stories…(cough)MYIMMORTAL(cough). So if any budding artists want to draw Grace and Bernard on their "date", I would love to see your results.**

**Oh and uh yeah I decided to wait a bit before uploading that Bernard story. It gives away too much.**

**Read and review :)**

**EDIT:**

**I just got a tumblr guys! Well actually, I just started posting stuff on tumblr. I've always had a tumblr. It'll mainly have news on Overshadowed, and random musings on it...sometimes just plain random musings. Come visit me :) Link's on my profile.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything except my OC's.**

* * *

"Incoming!" Keith shouts, throwing a soaked rag up in the air. I catch it neatly and continue scrubbing a particularly stubborn stain that Keith left one day when he decided to see how much coffee could be packed into the espresso machine. Keith yawns. "This rope is too tight. I think I might loosen it a bit-"

"No, idiot, don't!" I shout, but it's too late. The rope falls out of Keith's hand and he joins me on the ceiling. He grins sheepishly.

"Oops."

"Very good, dumbass!" I snap, throwing the wet rag in his face. "Now how are we supposed to clean anything?"

"I didn't mean to!" Keith protests, letting the rag fall to the floor with a splat. We bicker for a little while longer, but stop when we hear the door open and footsteps land on the ceiling with us.

"Hey, Bernard," I say tiredly, getting to my feet and greeting him. "Sorry, we're closed today. We can't reach the espresso machine since Megamind hit the city with that anti-gravity thing."

"I know," Bernard says, sitting on one of the lights on the ceiling. It's just raised enough to provide him a nifty sort of chair. "The museum's closed too because of it. Did you know that Metro Man has set up some ropes leading from lamppost to lamppost while the anti-gravity wears off?"

I walk over to the window, peering through it. It's a funny sight. People are dragging themselves along the ropes that stretch from each lamppost as far as the eye can see. Except for the ones that are walking on bottom of the ledges outside shops. I can't help a snort as one middle-aged man slips off the ledge and soars into the sky. Luckily someone in a high-rise building manages to catch him and pull him through the window.

"What _are_ you doing if you're closed?" Bernard asks with the slightest semblance of curiosity. I sigh, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand. I'm _hot_. And _tired_.

"Richard decided that this would be a good as chance as any to finally get the ceilings and tops of the windows clean. So…we aren't allowed to go home yet."

"I'd like to note that your scrap of cloth and bucket of soap and water is on the floor," Bernard tells me boredly, leaning back. "Along with the rest of everything else that wasn't affected by the anti-gravity gun."

"So that's everything," Keith mutters. I ignore him.

"Keith _was_ supposed to be helping me with the wet rag…then the idiot got himself stuck up here. Give me a hand getting him down?"

Bernard rolls his eyes in annoyance, but eventually comes over and helps. Keith does a handstand on the ceiling and we each grab one arm in an attempt to get him close enough to the ground.

"Jesus, Keith, lose some weight," I groan, my knees starting to buckle.

"She's not kidding," Bernard grunts, beads of sweat coating his forehead. "Been hitting the cheeseburgers too much?"

"I'll have you know, my mom says I'm just the right weight for my age," Keith says primly. He pushes himself off of our hands and thanks to his freakishly tall stature manages to hook his foot around a table. He pulls himself closer to it, eventually getting low enough to wrap his legs around the table leg and tie himself to the table. He looks up and gives me a thumbs up, along with a cheesy grin. "Mission success, captain!"

"Then give me back the cloth!" I snap. "Wet it, too."

"_Then give me back the cloth,_" Keith mimics in a high-pitched girly tone. I stand above him and spit. With a logic that I still don't understand, the spit arches and hits Keith on the crown of his head. "_Ewww_! That's disgusting! You're too gross to be a girl!"

I ignore his complaints and turn back to Bernard. "So, have you gotten back the sarcophagus yet? It's been two days already."

Bernard shook his head, scowling. "No. It was more damaged than they suspected. They need another day. We've had to reroute all the guests to the Metro Man exhibit."

My eye-roll comes almost instinctively. "Yeah. Whatever. Guess Memo Man's useful for something after all."

"The blood is rushing to my head," Keith complains, blissfully ignoring my remark on Metro Man and throwing the soaked rag up to me. "Can I get down-up-_whatever_?"

I squish the rag and the water cascades down onto Keith. Keith lets loose a girly squeal and I turn back to Bernard.

"You should have gotten the names of the mother of those kids who damaged it. Made them pay for it."

Bernard rolls his eyes. "It isn't the money. Though that's an issue too. No, it's the fact that one of the only reasons why people visit us is _gone_!"

"For three days," I point out. "And it's almost time for it to return. In the mean time, just sit back and enjoy the fact that not as many people are going to the museum as usual."

Bernard grunts, crossing his arms over his chest. "Whatever. The museum guests are all too stupid to appreciate anything that isn't Metro Man anyway."

I smirk. "Exactly. It means that you just have less people running through- pthhh! _Keith_!"

Keith grins with satisfaction as the sopping wet backup rag falls from my face back to the floor. He picks it up and throws it back into the bucket, which he's moved to sit on top of the table. "Payback's a bitch, Museum Girl."

I give him the most lethal look I can muster and jump with all my might. I manage to just hook the handle of the bucket with my fingers. I hang there for a moment, the weight of the bucket and the anti-gravity force warring with each other. Eventually the anti-gravity force wins out and I slowly start falling to the ceiling. After a few seconds, I let go of the bucket and it flips upside down to empty on Keith. Keith shrieks girlishly and starts complaining. Meanwhile, I get sent crashing into Bernard and we get flattened against the ceiling.

"Sorry," I mumble sheepishly, rubbing my forehead from where his head smacked against mine. Bernard just rolls his eyes in such a condescending way that I can't fight my smile. He helps me back to my feet.

"I'm going home," Bernard says, dropping my hand as soon as I'm straightened up. "Hopefully Metro Man set up a rope to my apartment."

I feel my mouth twist in disappointment, but I smooth it out straight away. "Okay. Bye, Bernard."

A small part of me hopes that Bernard will see right through my care-free façade like he did last time, but to no avail. He gives a small wave and climbs over the doorway, dodging someone who's passing by the Bean Baby. I turn to Keith to ask what he thinks of Bernard, but Keith is still shrieking and complaining.

He doesn't stop for a full _hour_.

* * *

Bast is curled up in my cupped hands when Sarah bounds through the door, her face lit up in a brilliant smile.

"Hullo, everyone!"

"Hi, Sarah," Keith, Anna, Lynette and I chorus back. Sarah dumps her school bag by the door, narrowly missing a cat with strangely stumpy legs. She sits by me, flashing her brilliant smile in my direction.

"Hi, Grace! How did you like the trivia carnival?"

"It was fun," I say cautiously, trying to figure out why she's so happy. Sarah beamed at me.

"I thought so too! My friends and I all loved the games set up."

Those weren't really the point of the trivia carnival, but whatever… "Okay. Did you see that Matt guy again?"

My words have an instantaneous reaction. Anna drops a bag of cat food, which spills across the floor. Keith's head snaps up so fast I hear a crack. Lynette jerks around in her chair, eyes narrowed to slits. And finally, all the colour drains out of Sarah's face and her smile becomes strained.

"Sarah?" Anna asks with that warning tone in her voice mothers seem to be able to conjure up so perfectly. "Is Grace talking about Matthew Peterson?"

Sarah shifts uneasily. "Um, yeah…he's in my homeroom class…"

"You're still _talking_ to the little shit?" Lynette snarls incredulously. "I thought we taught you better than that! He didn't try anything, did he? I'll kill him if he did. Little bastard like that deserves to be fucked with a harpoon…"

"_Lynette_!"

"I'm not sorry, mom. He does."

"Sarah," Keith cuts in as Anna raises a wooden spoon threateningly in Lynette's direction. "What's Matthew Peterson doing still talking to you?"

Sarah bit her lip. "I don't know. He was talking to Grace and Bernard when I showed up…I didn't see him…"

"What's going on?" I ask Keith, confused. Keith's eyes dart to me and he looks surprised, like he forgot I was there.

"Oh, sorry, Grace. Our family has a…history with the Peterson family. Um…do you mind if I take you home? It's gonna get pretty boring around here. Maybe we can get ice cream! There's a place down the road that mixes lollies and stuff in it!"

I almost miss how effortless the change from Keith's big brother persona back to his ridiculous normal self is. I also almost miss that he's already shepherding me out of the kitchen. I glance over my shoulder.

"Bye, everyone. I guess I'll see you again another time."

"Bye, dear," Anna says with a smile on her face that doesn't seem to fit there properly. Lynette only looks at me long enough to salute me, while Sarah gives me the most heart-breaking look. I place Bast on the floor next to a ginger cat and finally let Keith pull me out the door.

* * *

Keith's incessant chatter doesn't ease up the entire trip back, not even when we stop for ice cream. It's not even real chatter, it's just like he's blurting out whatever comes to mind. Whenever I try to ask about Sarah, he changes the subject so suddenly that my head hurts trying to keep up. Eventually he drops me back off in front of Roxanne's apartment building.

"Hi, Carlos," I say awkwardly after almost a whole minute of the doorman just staring at me. This seems to be all he was waiting for, as he opens the big glass door and flashes me a beam.

"Hello, Miss Ritchi!"

"Is my sister back yet?" I ask, figuring I should at least extend the conversation by a sentence or two. Carlos shakes his head.

"She parked her TV van, but as soon as she got out she disappeared again. Right into thin air." Carlos' eyes are very, very wide.

"Huh," I say absentmindedly. "Who'd have thought. Okay, thanks. Bye, Carlos."

I trudge upstairs and throw myself on the couch, picking up a book on the Ming Dynasty in Ancient China that I had left there this morning. I read for about five minutes, then my phone buzzes and I look at it.

_Yooooo Museum Girl! Turn on the TV!_

I put my book down and turned on the TV, just in time to catch Megamind bellow, "_Behold_! Roxanne Ritchi has been captured again!"

"This is just getting ridiculous, how inconvenient you are sometimes," Roxanne complains, glowering at him. She's trapped in a small room, the window in the wall facing Megamind the only way anyone can see and hear her. "I have to cook dinner!"

Megamind waves a dismissive hand. "Oh, Minion will feed you something."

"I'm not the only one I cook for!" Roxanne snaps. "Great, now my sister's going to starve. She can't cook."

The fish-thing that always accompanies Megamind perks up at this. "Your sister can't cook?"

Roxanne shakes her head, but Megamind interrupts her. "I didn't bring you here to chat! Feast your eyes on my _mega machine trap of doom_!"

Roxanne looks on, unimpressed, at the spikes that pop forth from the walls. "Uh-huh, spiked walls. Only seen those in about any movie, TV show or game that takes place in ancient tombs."

"Name three!" Megamind shouts angrily.

"Batman, Krull, Inspector Gadget," Roxanne counts off. "And it was even parodied on the Simpsons once."

"Those don't even take place in ancient tombs, Roxie," I call at the screen, fingers flying across the keypad as I reply to Keith.

_Guess I'm not having dinner tonight._

"_Aha!" _Megamind yells triumphantly. "You listed four! That shall be the last mistake you ever make!"

"Wait, what?" Roxanne asks incredulously as Megamind slams his hand down on a big red button. The walls start closing in on her and she rolls her eyes. Her blasé expression gets tighter and tighter as the walls come closer to her. It finally wavers altogether as the spikes skim past the vulnerable skin of her neck. She closes her eyes and braces herself. I watch, a little bit confused at the new turn in events. After a few moments of nothing happening, Roxanne opens her eyes again and starts laughing.

"Are you serious? Who _made_ this room?"

"_Minion_," Megamind hisses furiously as Roxanne rests her head on the spike behind her head. The spikes are so sparingly spaced that they manage to completely miss any of Roxanne's body. Two rest in front of her knees, two rest under the seat of her chair, and two rest behind her back and in front of her chest. Megamind spins around, shouting furiously, "_MINION! MINION, WHERE ARE YOU? I TOLD YOU TO SPARE NO EXPENSE WITH THE SPIKES! WE'D CASH THEM IN AS A TAX DEDUCTIBLE!"_

No answer. I put down the remote as the doorbell rings. When I answer it, I'm taken aback at the sight. The person waiting for me has a huge, bulky gorilla body, but a dome filled with water for a head. Inside the dome is a fish. They've slapped on a curly blonde wig and an apron, like it really makes all the difference.

"Er…hello!" Minion says, giving me a cheesy smile. "I'm your…temporary chef! Your sister paid me to cook you dinner for tonight!"

I look incredulously at him, then sigh and open the door wider for him to enter. "Sure. Whatever. Can you cook pasta?"

* * *

**As I type this I'm watching that episode of Spongebob where Pearl goes through a growth spurt. ****"I didn't even know Mr Krabs _had_ a golden tooth." "...neither did I."**

**Anyways. The fan art list is growing delightfully thanks to my favourite readers MythScavenger and Dumb Genius. The links are on my profile. Also for those who haven't read yet, I've made a tumblr for Overshadowed. It will contain news on the story, fan arts and little extra bits of information that I didn't put in the story. So check it out if you have time :) The link for this is also on my profile. Ask me questions and stuff.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything except my OC's.**

**Ughhh I just want to get to the movie already but I can't because I still have stuff to get through in this story. But I have so many Bernard and Grace feels and no one to talk about them with. I have back stories for them in my mind and I think about them while I write and I just want to spill the beans about them already.**

**Also when did the image thingy for stories show up? I nearly died because the image for this story is a bird clutching a fish saying I CAN SHOW YOU THE WORLD. Who wants to draw me a cover image?**

**EDIT: Never mind, guys, the beautiful MythScavenger drew me a cover image :) Ain't it pretty?**

**Anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

I watch as my new temporary chef stirs a pot of sauce bubbling away on the stove top.

"So, what are your credentials?" I ask casually, swinging myself up onto the counter. I wait for Minion to shoo me off like Roxanne would have, but he doesn't. Huh. Guess guys have different rules about kitchen hygiene. Weird.

"Uh…I've cooked for…Gordon Ramsay!" Minion says, clearly blurting out the first name to come to his mind.

"Really?" I ask, feigning awe. "Oh wow! That's so cool! He looks really scary though on TV…"

Minion mumbles something guiltily, turning away from me. I continue talking.

"But if you've cooked under the great Gordon Ramsay, why are you working as something as meagre and humble as a temporary chef?"

Minion smiles half-heartedly. "Oh, you know…I'm a very humble soul…couldn't stand working for big end restaurants…all that…"

I roll my eyes, finally realising that Minion's not going to admit who he really is. "Fine. Whatever. What's your name, anyway?"

"My…name…is…Shirley…" Minion says in between long pauses. "Shirley…Temple?"

I stare at him incredulously, then smirk. I'm finally beginning to enjoy myself. "Well, thank you for cooking for me, Shirley Temple." This is so god damn ridiculous, I can't even believe I'm doing this.

Minion looks relieved beyond all belief. "The pleasure's all mine!"

"So, what's it like working as a temporary chef?" I ask pleasantly, picking up a book lying on the counter. Minion adds something to the pot and stirs again.

"Oh, it has its perks. I do like my cooking. My boss couldn't cook toast, so I had to learn."

"Your boss?" I repeat, quirking an eyebrow at Minion. Megamind can't cook? Well no surprise there, I guess. "I thought you were a temporary chef?"

Panic flashes over Minion's face. "I am. I meant…my boss before you…? Oh look, the pasta's ready!"

I smirk as Minion bustles around the kitchen, straining the spaghetti that had previously been bubbling in the other pot. I hop off the counter and saunter to the dining table. "If you say so."

Minion ladles the pasta sauce over the spaghetti, topping it with a hearty portion of cheese. He places it in front of me; his grin even cheesier than the pasta. "Bon appétit!"

I pick up my fork and start eating the pasta. After a few awkward moments of silence with Minion staring at me eating, I speak again. "Uh…would you like to eat with me?"

"Uh…" Minion looks blankly at me. "No thanks. I…ate before I got here."

"Are you sure?" I ask. How would Minion even eat? _What_ would he even eat? Did he even eat?

"Completely," Minion says firmly. He sits opposite me at the table, his bulky ape body making the table tilt precariously. He tries to scoot back a few inches, but succeeds only on tumbling backwards. The thud his body sends reverberates through the apartment and I wince, getting out of my chair and crouching by Minion.

"Ouch. Are you okay? How's your…er…head?"

Minion raises a cautious hand to his fish bowl. "I think I'm okay." He laughs weakly. "Silly clumsy me…"

A noise catches our attention. It's so soft that if our conversation hadn't been at a temporary pause, we wouldn't have heard it. I look over at the balcony doors. Standing outside is Metro Man, Roxanne encompassed in his muscular arms. He flashes her a beaming smile and places her gently on her feet.

"Have a good night, Roxie."

Roxanne smiles, unimpressed. "Thanks. You too."

I turn back to Minion, but he's rushing to the front door. "Er…Shirley? You okay?"

Minion freezes, then spins on one foot and grins guiltily. "You know, it's the darndest thing, really. I just remembered…I left my…pet porcupine outside."

Pet porcu- okay, you know what, I'll just roll with it. "Oh. Okay. Say hello for me."

"Will do, Miss Ritchi!" Minion says cheerfully, then dashes out the door when Roxanne pushes the balcony door open.

"How'd you get dinner?" Roxanne asks curiously when she sees me eating. I peer past her, but Metro Man is gone. Rude. Didn't even say hello to his favourite fan? But I love him so much.

I think I just died a little.

"Shirley Temple came over to cook for me," I answer, putting another forkful of spaghetti in my mouth and ignoring Roxanne's weird look. "Yeah. She's had a lot of work done lately."

Roxanne heads to the kitchen, then lets out a cry of surprise. "You used up our entire supply of spaghetti!"

"Look on the bright side," I reply, still a little high from my visit from everyone's favourite henchman. "You won't have to cook for a week."

* * *

"A fish cooked you dinner," Keith repeats doubtfully, looking at me like I'm a lunatic. "Uh…are you sure Megamind's antigravity ray didn't hit you a little weirdly?"

I shrug, not really caring if Keith believed me or not. He wouldn't believe me if I said Minion cooked me dinner, either. Keith continues muttering under his breath, something about maybe he shouldn't have hit me so hard with the wet rag.

"It's hot," I decide eventually, mainly to cut off Keith's ramblings. It works though.

"No way," Keith protests. "It's just right. Here, have another coke."

Keith pulls another icy cold (well, not anymore) coke from the carton he had lugged up on the top of the wall with us and hands it to me. I take it and crack it open, sipping the carbonated drink. Since Keith had the day off as well, he decided to spend it with me. Whoopee. Except he decided that it would be best spent sitting atop a bricked wall that prevented people from entering the alleyway next to McDonald's. I had to press myself all the way against the adjoining wall just to feel safe.

"I can't feel my ass," I complain, just because I can.

"Don't care," Keith replies cheerfully, swigging his lukewarm coke. A cacophony of loud, brash laughter makes us both look over. Heading towards McDonalds is Matthew Peterson and his group of idiots.

"Well if it isn't Robin Hood and his band of merry men," I comment, quirking an eyebrow.

"Perfect," Keith breathes in such a predatory tone that my head snaps towards him. Keith pulls another coke out of the carton and, after a brief moment to aim it, throws it at his head with such precision that I feel a little jealous. It connects with Matthew's head and he collapses like a sack of potatoes. Keith rolls off the wall and lands in the alleyway behind it. I press myself closer to the adjoining wall so that the boys can't see me. After a moment's consideration, I kick the carton of cokes so that it just narrowly avoids Keith.

"Is he dead?" Keith calls up. I peer around the building, watching as a McDonalds staff member comes rushing out with an icepack.

"Nope," I report after Matthew stands up again.

"Damn," Keith hisses, looking perfectly serious. "I should aim a little lower next time. Do you aim at the bottom of their head to kill someone?"

"Pretty sure you aim higher," I answer, then realise I could be considered an accomplice for giving Keith this information. "Why so vicious? Decided your new hero is Megamind?"

"Not a chance in hell," Keith says determinedly. "No, I just really freaking hate that kid."

I try to piece together what I've heard about Matthew Peterson. "Something happened between him and Sarah, didn't it?"

Keith hauls himself back on top of the wall and gets comfortable again. "Maybe."

"What happened?" I ask. Keith doesn't answer. "Keith! What happened?"

"Not telling," Keith snaps.

"But I promise I won't tell anyone!" I whine, then immediately change my tone when I realise I sound about fifteen. "Um, I mean…you can trust me, I promise!"

Keith rolls his eyes. "That isn't why I'm not telling you. I'd love to shout to the world about that irresponsible, psychotic little prick. But it isn't my story to tell."

"Then whose is it?" I ask. Keith pauses, as if debating his answer.

"Let's just say…there's a reason why we all adore Metro Man so much."

My mouth puckers into a frown as Keith's phone starts going off and he answers it. After a few uh-huh's and I-don't-know's, he hangs up. A few more moments of silence passes by, then Keith takes out his phone again.

"I'm bored! Let's call Bernard."

I choked on my coke. "How the hell did you get Bernard's number?"

"I have da mad l33t skillz," Keith answers cheerfully, typing in Bernard's number. After pressing the green call button, he hits the speakerphone button and waits for Bernard to answer.

"What do you want." Bernard's monotonous tone – tinnier than usual from the speakerphone – echoes out.

"Berny, man!" Keith says cheerily, giving the phone a salute even though Bernard can't see him. Idiot. "Whaddup?"

"…is this all you really called me for?" Bernard asks with the slightest strain of irritation.

"Pretty much."

"…I'm hanging up."

"Wait!" I burst out, grabbing Keith's arm and dragging him over so he's beside me. "Bernard, why does Keith have your number? I don't even have your number."

"If I had it my way, no one would have my number," Bernard snaps, with a lot more irritation than he directed towards Keith. "I wouldn't even have a phone if I had it my way."

"Yeah but if you had it your way, everyone in the world would be dead…" I point out. Bernard doesn't deny it. "So can I have your number then? Keith has it."

"If Keith has it, then ask _him_," Bernard says stonily. I figure that's about as far as I'll get with Bernard and Keith rattles off the number for me. I open a text message box immediately and text him.

_Hatshepsut, the only female pharaoh, ruled Egypt from 1479 to 1458 BC._

"No she wasn't," Bernard counters as soon as he gets it. "She was the first, but there was still Sobeknefru, Nefertiti, Cleopatra and so on."

I frown and rack my brain. As soon as I realise he's right, my jaw drops open in horror.

"T-That was a typo!" I cry, shrinking away from the phone like I can run from my heinous mistake. Keith snickers obnoxiously and I punch him in the arm.

"I'm sure," Bernard says, sounding like he doesn't believe me in the slightest. "In any case, unlike you two, I work. Which is what I'm supposed to be doing right now." Without another word, he hangs up.

"That makes no sense," Keith complains as I fight down my disappointment. "If we didn't work, how the hell would he get his coffee?"

"Nobody ever said Bernard made sense," I mumble, finally getting comfortable enough to prop one leg up the wall with me. Keith smirks.

"Truer words have never been spoken."

* * *

Keith's car tears away from the building with a deafening screech. I roll my eyes and turn away, heading straight for the door.

"Good afternoon, Miss Ritchi," Carlos greets me cheerfully, holding the door open for me.

"Afternoon," I mumble half-heartedly, still fixated on my mobile phone as I rattle off another historical fact to Bernard.

What? I never said I had social skills.

A hand on my arm stops me from going any further. I stare at it for a very long time as it slowly hits me that _Carlos_ is _touching_ my _arm_. I follow the path up his arm until I'm cocking an eyebrow at his face. "Yes?"

Carlos withdraws his hand, blushing. "Oh, it's nothing, it's just…yesterday, a woman came here and said she had been hired-"

"To cook dinner for me?" I finish, eyebrow still raised. Carlos looks relieved.

"Oh good, so you did know her. I wasn't going to let her up, but I thought that since it was a woman that it was okay."

Was everyone in Metro City this stupid? "Yeah. Shirley cooks a mean pasta. Good thing you let her up. Now buh-bye…"

I gently unhook my arm from his hand and continue on my path to the elevator leading to Roxanne's apartment.

* * *

"Give me a boost," I order, hands on hips. Keith laughs in delight.

"Well it's nice to see you too."

I continue glowering at him, but my hand comes up of its own accord and starts fiddling with the straps of my backpack. Well, guess that gives away how unconfident I'm feeling. Keith grins and hops off the wall, landing gracefully on his feet. It's such a fluid motion that I start clapping sarcastically.

"Bravo, bravo, monsieur acrobat. Now help me up."

"Patient as ever," Keith mumbles, but throws his arms around my legs and heaves me up. I manage to grab onto the wall and push myself so that I'm straddling the wall. As soon as I'm up, Keith lets go of me and climbs up himself.

"Had a good night?" Keith asks cheerfully, taking at a can of sprite and handing it to me.

"Not really," I say, pulling a book out of my backpack and balancing it on my knees in front of me. I sip at my sprite and sneeze when the bubbles tickle my nose. "Roxanne keeps trying to hang out with me socially…I don't like it."

Keith looks at me oddly. "You're weird. I love hanging out with my sisters. When I was a teenager, Lynette used to buy me alcohol. Your sister never did that?"

I arch an eyebrow at Keith. "Yeah…funnily enough, that was never the case with Roxanne and I. I always did think we should spend more time bonding over illegal drinking." When Keith fails to look properly wounded, I add, "You're an idiot."

"Ouch. Cuts like a knife."

I can't help a grin at Keith's childlike behaviour and turn to my book. We sit there in silence for a little while, me reading and Keith looking out over the car park. Eventually he breaks the silence.

"Metro City…it's really beautiful, y'know?"

I glance up. "Hm? I guess so."

"Seriously," Keith insists, scrambling to his feet so fast that I curse from surprise. He doesn't seem to notice the perilous danger he's in, swaying atop the wall. "It really is. I mean, I don't know what city you came from, but Metro City could totally beat it."

"I don't stay in a city for its beauty," I say flatly, trying to figure out how to get Keith seated again without startling him enough to make him fall. "I stay for its convenience. At the moment, it's my parents."

Keith looks disappointed. "Oh…well…I think Metro City is the best city in the world. You should totally not even bother going home."

I just wait for him to sit down again so my heart can stop threatening to leap out of my throat. Once he does I return to my book. After a while, I look up again. Keith…was actually right. Metro City _was_ beautiful. A lot of it was all gleaming skyscrapers, but Roxanne's apartment had the most splendid view of Metro City Park. Even if it _was_ polluted as hell. And from our perch on the wall, we could even see the gentle curve of Metro Bay…

The tinny shriek of my mobile phone jerks me out of my musings. I flip open my phone and look at it.

_Where are you? I need to be around a non-stupid person for once. – Bernard_

Is it sad that the non-stupid thing made me happy beyond all belief? Sad to say, that's the closest thing that I've gotten to a compliment from Bernard.

_I'm at the wall in between McDonalds and Mabuchi's at the intersection of Main and Evergreen. – Grace _

Bernard doesn't reply, but I know he got my message. I close my phone and stuff it back into my backpack.

"Pass me another sprite," I order, running my fingers through my hair in a fruitless attempt to neaten it. My fingers snag on more than a few knots and I wince. Maybe I should start actually brushing my hair in the morning.

"Bernard?" Keith queries, nodding his head at my backpack as he passes me the aforementioned drink.

"Yuh-huh," I mumble, cracking open the sprite and sipping it. "He wants to talk to me. I think."

Keith raises an eyebrow. "You think?"

"Don't ask. How's my little Bast doing?"

"Crazy," Keith returns. "She really is your kitten. Mom nearly had a heart attack yesterday because she couldn't find her. Then we realised she was sleeping in the bookcase."

"I'd sleep in a bookcase if I could," I say sombrely. Because I would. I so would. I only ever part from my books for food and sleep. If my bookcase was my bed, that would mean one less thing to leave for.

"Trust me, I know," Keith mumbles. We sit in a comfortable silence for a while until Bernard shows up, a cup of coffee clutched in his hand.

"Why are you on the wall?" Bernard asks stonily.

"Hey, Berny!" Keith says cheerfully. Bernard gives him a 'what the actual fuck' sort of look.

"Don't _call_ me that. Why are you on the wall?"

"Comfy," I answer easily, even though my ass ached for hours yesterday. I pat the wall invitingly. "Wanna join?"

"No thanks," Bernard mutters. He squints up at us and I almost feel sort of bad for him. The sun's at our back, which rocks for us because it's making us all toasty and warm but it must make it terrible for Bernard. "Can we continue this conversation on ground level?"

"Sorry, Bernard, the wall is one of us now," Keith says sombrely. "If you can't accept that, then maybe we can't accept _you_."

Bernard looks like he's very seriously reconsidering the benefits of staying with us, but ultimately he decides to pull a nearby box closer to him and sits on it. "I can literally feel my IQ plummeting the more time I spend around you two."

"We love you too, Bernard," I say sarcastically. "Want a sprite?"

"I already have a drink," Bernard says dismissively. "What are you reading?"

"_Egypt and the Egyptians _by Douglas J. Brewer and Emily Teeter," I answer, flipping the book around and Bernard the cover. "It's an introduction to Ancient Egypt."

Bernard takes the book, brow furrowed. "Douglas J. Brewer…where have I heard that name before?"

"He did another book on Ancient Egypt a couple years ago called _Foundations of a Civilisation_," I offer helpfully. Keith makes a snoring noise, but we ignore him. Bernard nods.

"That must be it. Hm…this book looks…interesting…"

I beam, pleased, even though Bernard is technically complimenting my book, not me. "It is! Would you like to borrow it?"

Bernard snaps out of whatever fascination he has with the book and shuts it, passing it back to me. "No thanks. I prefer to actually use my library card. You know, the one I paid five dollars for?"

I roll my eyes, hugging the book close to me. "Whatever. I have both, anyway, if you change your mind."

"I'll keep it in mind," Bernard says sarcastically.

I don't exactly know how we do it, but the three of us manage to waste the entire day at the wall.

* * *

"I'm _hungry_," Keith yawns as he helps me down from the wall.

"Then go to McDonalds," I snap, brushing the dirt off the back of my jeans. Keith grins at me.

"But they've already seen so much of our pretty faces thanks to Bernard's caffeine fix." We all look down by the box where Bernard was sitting, where Bernard has manage to build a small pyramid of empty coffee cups. Boy really likes his coffee, doesn't he?

"Fair enough," I comment lightly. "You going home then?"

"Yuh huh. Need a lift home?"

"Sure," I accept lightly, then glance at Bernard. "What about you, Bernard? Need a lift home?"

"Don't just offer my services like that," Keith complains, but we both ignore him.

"No," Bernard says flatly and a little quickly. "I'll walk."

I raise an eyebrow at his prickliness. "Um…alright. Where do you live, anyway?"

"Once again, that's grounds for stalking," Bernard says like he's talking to a two year old. I feel heat rise to my cheeks and open my mouth to retort something, but the tinny shriek of my phone cuts me off. _Damn_, I really have to change my ringtone.

"Hello?" I answer, glowering at Keith as he exchanges high-fives with a very reluctant Bernard.

"Hi, Grace!" Roxanne chirps. I smile blandly, then realise I don't have to bother because _she can't see me_. I'm an idiot.

"Hey, Roxie. What's up?"

"Can you pick up some groceries for dinner tonight?"

"Uh…sure."

"Thanks! I'll text you the list."

With that, Roxanne hangs up and I'm left staring stupidly at my phone. Bernard arches an eyebrow at me. "What did she want?"

"She wants me to buy groceries," I reply, still staring at my phone. "Where the hell is the grocery store?"

Bernard stares at me like I'm an idiot. "You've been here for how long and you still don't know where the grocery store is?"

I shift uneasily. "Well…it was never my job! Roxanne always did the grocery shopping on her way from work."

Bernard rolls his eyes. "Figures. Fine, I'll take you shopping."

What.

* * *

**True story, I actually used **_**Egypt and the Egyptians **_**for my eight grade History essay. I spent more time reading it than actually doing my essay. Woops. Except I'm not exactly sure how Grace could have lugged it all the way from her apartment. It was pretty damn heavy. Ah well, she seems like the sort of person to do that.**

**Anyway, I'm so sorry about the wait! University's been crazy. I'm actually technically on my exam block right now, but I'm procrastinating. You wanna know how bad I'm procrastinating? I'm teaching myself **_**Latin**_**. Yeah. At the moment I'm laughing at George R. R. Martin's cleverness because he named the nuns of A Song of Ice and Fire's world septas, and the Latin for seven is septem and he turned the word into a feminine one by adding 'a' onto the end, which typically denotes a feminine word.**

_**Anyway**_**, I got reminded of this story when Miriflowers reviewed me (incidentally, it was very kind, dear, thank you) and I was like "hey I should totally procrastinate by updating Overshadowed". So voila.**

**Read and review, please!**

**Also, how did everyone's finals go? Pass? Fail? Working at McDonalds for the rest of your life, serving people like Bernard coffee and patching up people like Matthew Peterson when people like Keith try to kill him?**


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything except my OC's.**

**Hey, guys, I found another good Bernard/OC fic! It's called 'The Woes of the Eternally Bored' by FancyFreeThinker101 and it really needs more love. For those who love snark, Bernard is just as snarky there!**

* * *

Grocery shopping with Bernard is actually…nice. Even doing something as mundane as grocery shopping, he doesn't lose his snark for one moment. And doing such a domestic task with him…it's almost like we're…you know…_living together_. Scary thought.

Anyway, Bernard ends up helping me carry the groceries back to my apartment. His eyebrows practically disappear into his hairline when I unlock the door and enter the apartment.

"You _live_ here?"

"Yuh huh!" I say brightly, dumping the bags I'm carrying onto the kitchen counter. Bernard swivels his head and spots the spiral staircase leading to Roxanne's loft. He follows it and cranes his head to look up at her loft.

"Who has two stories in an apartment?"

"My sister, clearly," I scoff, immensely enjoying Bernard's surprise. Well, I can't even remember ever surprising him this much. Except that BSOD moment he had in the museum. "Besides, lofts aren't _that_ uncommon. Plenty of apartments have them."

"How many apartments have you stayed in that has lofts?" Bernard asks doubtfully, turning to stare at me. I pause and try to rack my brains.

"Yeah, well…shut up."

"Your wit astounds me," Bernard says sarcastically. I flush and turn to put the milk away.

"Oh, shut up."

There's a long period of silence when I shut the fridge and turn back to Bernard. I try to meet his gaze, but find that I can't. Is he staying? Is he going? God, I can't believe I really invited him back here. Bernard and I are at home _alone_. This is like the beginning of some corny romance thing.

"You said you had the two books by Douglas J. Brewer?" Bernard queries, breaking the silence. I almost sag against the counter in relief.

"Yeah! I'll just go get them. They're in my room."

I scuttle off to fetch the books, but feel my heart stutter when I hear Bernard's footsteps behind me. God, why did I do this? I went my entire life without any friends and now my first one is Bernard. Not just a boy, but one impossible to understand.

I hand Bernard the book cautiously, trying to figure out where to sit. I'd overheard enough of Roxanne's conversations during our teenage years to know that sitting on the bed invited certain things. Eventually I just plunked myself down on the floor, my back against the wall. Bernard doesn't even seem to notice my brief moment of struggle and absentmindedly seats himself in my desk chair. Balancing the book on his knees, his eyes scan the pages with interest. We sit there in silence for a while before Bernard breaks it again.

"This book is interesting. Brewer actually includes stories from his own archaeological expeditions."

"Hm?" I ask, jerking back to life. "Oh, yeah. I have a few other books that do that too. You wanna see?"

"It would be…appreciated."

And that's how Bernard and I waste three hours.

* * *

The books have managed to take over my room by the time six o'clock rolls around. They're on my desk, they're on my floor, and they're on my bed. Of course, one book is never abandoned for long. Bernard and I swap books like clockwork.

Unfortunately, our little reading time is interrupted when the front door opens and Roxanne calls out, "Grace, I'm home!"

"Clearly," I mutter in annoyance, but heave a sigh and stand up. We pick our way through the books and make our way back to the living room. Roxanne enters, but stops short when she sees Bernard.

"Oh, hello!" she says in surprise, blinking. "Um…Keith?"

"Close," I say dryly, even though it's anything _but_. "Roxanne, this is Bernard. Bernard, my sister Roxanne."

Bernard only arches an eyebrow at Roxanne and nods briefly at her. Roxanne attempts a cheerful smile at him. "It's nice to meet you, Bernard! Will you be staying for dinner? I'm going to make pasta bake. Grace _loves_ pasta bake. Grace, do you remember that time when all you ate was pasta bake?" I'm going to throttle her.

Bernard stares at Roxanne for a while, then turns to me. "She's like you before you learnt how annoying it was when you spoke so much."

Roxanne looks offended, but I can't help the snort of laughter that escapes me. And the pleased _beam_. This is the closest thing I've gotten to a compliment from him. "Thank you. I try."

"At any case, I'm going home," Bernard adds, glancing at his watch. I don't know why. Does he have someone waiting for him? "I'll see you Monday. We'll pick up where we left off next time."

"Got it, boss," I announce brightly, feeling like clapping in glee. The invitation doesn't sound like much, but it's a promise that this hasn't been as disastrous as it could be. It's a promise that this – this – what _is_ this? A friendship? Relationship? _What_? – that this _thing_ is going to be continued. It's something for me to pin my hopes to.

The door clicks shut behind Bernard and his footsteps disappear down the hallway.

"Grace?" Roxanne says blithely, smiling what we've deemed her Reporter Smile – cheerful, warm, inviting, and 100% fake.

"Yeah, Roxie?"

"Who was that?"

"Just a friend, Roxanne," I say nonchalantly, inspecting my nails in all their unpainted glory. Roxanne still has her Reporter Smile.

"Are you sure he's a…positive influence on you?"

I can't help a snort. "Yeah, thanks, _mom_. I'll make sure if he offers me a blunt or something I'll tell him 'Drugs are bad, mmmmmkay?'"

"That isn't what I meant and you know it," Roxanne snaps, her façade finally shattering. She looks more than a little ticked off. "He's got a really bad attitude."

The laugh that tears forth from my throat is more surprised than amused, because honestly, Roxanne, who ever said Bernard didn't?

* * *

The next evening I sleep over at Keith's, so early Monday morning I drag myself off the scratched up old mattress, get ready and sit at the breakfast counter to watch the chaos ensue.

"_Mom_!" Sarah wails, looking near tears. She's rifling through her school bag, but as I watch she eventually just upends it onto the floor. "_Mom, I can't find my copy of Much Ado About Nothing_!"

"Check the Shakespeare Cabinet!" Stacey – the English major of the family – thunders back. Sarah tears off into the next room and I know by her relieved cry that she's found it.

"Keith, where the crap is Lab Mom's number?" Lynette shrieks from somewhere in the house.

"What, my dear Lady Disdain," Keith calls back jokingly from the opposite end of the house. "Why do you assume _I _have it?"

"We all know you wanna tap Lab Mom, now tell me where it is!"

"Who's Lab Mom?" I ask blankly as the siblings continue their shouts. Sam, the only one who has managed to escape the morning chaos, smiles serenely.

"Lynette works in the research department at the local college. Lab Mom's the woman who takes care of all their experiments."

My mouth forms an 'o' shape as Bast runs in and climbs her way up my leg, eventually settling in my lap. I absentmindedly pet her, distracted when Keith saunters in wearing only his jeans.

"Hey, this thingy was going off," Keith announces, sliding my phone across the counter to me. Stacey enters and lets out a disgusted cry when she sees Keith.

"Were you raised in a barn? Put a shirt on!"

The siblings start bickering and I answer my phone when it goes off in my hand, making me feel like Phone Jesus.

"Hello?"

"_Why aren't you at work yet?"_ Bernard's annoyed voice snaps from my phone. I check the clock – we're over an hour late.

"Sorry, Keith's apparently misplaced his clothes."

I hear a slight noise as Bernard begins to question me, then evidently decides he doesn't want to know."_Well, hurry up. I need coffee."_

"Isn't Richard serving you?" I ask curiously, dipping my fingers in the remains of my cereal and letting Bast lick it off. Bernard makes an impatient noise.

"_It isn't the same. Why is it so noisy on your end?"_

I smirk and glance at Stacey, who is currently trying to force the nearest shirt over Keith's head, which happens to be a giant one evidently meant for dirty work. "Morning rituals of the Colbert household, I guess."

"…_are they always this noisy?"_

"I don't know. I guess. Why, what was your morning rituals like at home?"

I hear Bernard hesitate. He hesitates for so long that I begin to think he's either BSOD-ing or has accidentally hung up. Then he finally answers, "_Not so noisy_."

I try to imagine a teenage Bernard getting ready for school. He said he had a sister, right? Or rather, I insinuated he had a sister. So a grumpy teenage Bernard stomping around the kitchen, grabbing coffee (_only_ coffee – I found it hard to believe that he began a liquid diet as soon as he turned into an adult) and shoving books and other knick-knacks into his bag. Maybe with a Sarah look-a-like running underfoot? Or a Stacey?

"What was your sister like?" I blurt out before I can stop myself. The frosty silence answers volumes.

"_That is hardly any of your business."_

"I know, I'm sorry," I mumble abashedly, hugging Bast to me. She's a purring bundle of Calico fur against my chest. "I was just…wondering."

"_Regardless. Get to work when you want, I'm going back to work."_

"Wait, Bernard-" I begin, but the dialling tone is all that replies. I sigh, hanging up. Keith glances over at me, the shirt stuck over his head and showing only one eye.

"What's up?"

"One step forward, two steps back with guys like him," I say tiredly, letting my head fall forward onto the countertop.

* * *

We're almost out the door when Jamie rolls up in a black SUV. I say almost because we're currently _stuck_ in the doorway. Keith, Sarah and Lynette were all trying to leave at the same time, and well…one thing led to another.

"Hop in, losers," Jamie teases.

"We're going _shopping_," Keith shouts back almost instantaneously, making Lynette head butt him.

"Stuff it, dumbass. Hey, nerdling, what are you doing here?"

"Need a lift?" Jamie offers with a sunny smile. Sarah accepts without hesitation, but Keith's eyebrows fly up on his face.

"I _have_ a car."

"Yeah, but this way you won't have to pay for parking," Jamie says dismissively. "Come on. I have business near there anyway."

"We can't," I say miserably, trying to crane my neck over the Three Stooges stuck in the doorway. "They're stuck."

"Step back," I hear Stacey whisper in my ear. That's all the warning I get before she plants a boot on Keith's ass and _shoves._ They spill out onto the doorstep, some cursing (Lynette) and some whining (Keith).

* * *

"Have a good day at school, snookums!" Lynette coos mockingly at Sarah, waving goodbye as she shuts the door. Sarah flushes and I swear to God she just goes _anime_. I half expect her to go 'Desu~!'

Then Keith thunders, "_It's that fucking kid_!" and I have just enough time to see Matthew Peterson look up before Jamie slams her foot down on the accelerator and we screech away.

"Hey, what's this?" I ask curiously, picking up a newspaper wedged between the seats. I scan the page it's folded open at and try not to groan. You cannot be _serious_.

"Oh, that," Jamie chirps when she glances back and sees the page. "Did you know they're making a museum for Metro Man?"

"I do now," I say, feeling my faith in humanity seep away. "Why the hell does he get a museum?"

"Well, gee, Grace, I guess it's because the man's pretty much the real life version of _Superman_?" Lynette says sarcastically. I was always a Batman sort of girl, myself.

"Yeah, the directors are paying me to make a statue of him for the museum," Jamie says proudly, beaming like it's good news. Which, I suppose, it _is_ for Jamie. For me it just serves as a reminder of the pretentiousness of Metro Man.

"Yeah, it's going to be over at City Hall," Keith chimes in. He goes starry-eyed. "Finally, something _worthwhile_ visiting over there!"

"Finally something worthwhile visiting in the area which contains over half the city's heritage sights?" I clarify – out loud, just so Keith can hear how stupid he sounds. He doesn't seem to notice.

"I know, great, right?"

"It'll be ready in a few months," Jamie adds on. She gnaws at her lower lip worriedly. "I hope I can get a good statue done in time…this is such an honour."

"Right," I say flatly, leaning my forehead against the glass. "An honour."

* * *

**Oh my gawd, you guys, I swear to god I meant to have this up a while ago. I'm so sorry for making you wait. I made it slightly longer than usual to try and make up for it. But, huh, I thought it had more Bernard when I was writing it. Shit. Why are the Colbert siblings so fun to write? Oh well. Next one I'll have lots of him. The more I make him BSOD the closer he gets to Grace, which means the more cutesy scenes I can write. BSOD means blue screen of death, by the way. You know, like the thing windows computers get when they crash? Google it.**

**Oh my god you guys I totally had this dream where Grace and Bernard were with Larry Daley during Night at the Museum 2 and Grace couldn't even keep up with him because she going into the fetal position and screaming "I JUST HAVE SO MANY FEELINGS" because of all the history coming alive. And I kept thinking about it after I woke up and I couldn't stop laughing because honestly she'd be the worst person to take with you in Night at the Museum 2. She'd probably meet Kahmunrah and be all like "CAN I BE YOUR HENCHMAN YOU COULD LIKE PAY ME IN STORIES ABOUT YOUR LIFE OR SOMETHING". And then she'd adore Napoleon because he was so little and cute and his battles are hella famous. And then I think she'd be a little bit in love with Young Al Capone because I mean he wears pinstripes and she's a girl and us girls, we love our men in suits. Probably why we love Bernard so much.**

**Anyway, my rambles. Your thoughts? **


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything except my OC's.**

* * *

Bernard doesn't come in the next day. Or the day after that. Or the day after that. I try to make myself forget about him and his huffiness – which, by the way, is on par with a hormonal teenage girl – but the more I think about it, the angrier I get about it and the more I want to fix it. So on my day off, I buy an extra large double strength espresso and march all the way to Bernard's museum. I don't bother with trying to find him in the museum; only let myself into his office and make myself at home.

"Damn, what the hell is that?" I mumble, raising an eyebrow at something large and neon blue. I am almost 80% sure it's tarp. I use my foot to kick it away and am pleasantly surprised when I see a chair underneath it. I plop myself into the chair and place the coffee on Bernard's desk. The office fills with the sound of Bubble Bobble as I try to amuse myself while waiting for him.

My patience is rewarded when the door opens and Bernard spills in. He stops short at the sight of me and blinks. Then he nods tersely and manages a, "Miss Ritchi."

I blink at him in confusion. "Um. Hey. I brought you coffee…" I trail off when I see the two men behind him. They're wearing spotless black suits that could give my father a run for his money. My finger freezes in the air, pointing awkwardly at the Styrofoam cup. "Oh. You're busy."

"Not at all," one man says smoothly. He hands Bernard a thick green folder. "Mr Green. I'll be back on Monday to continue our discussion."

"I look forward to it," Bernard says, a blatant lie if his raised eyebrows are any indication. The men disappear and I look curiously at Bernard.

"What's up?"

Bernard brushes off my question and slips into the desk chair behind the desk. He slides the folder onto his desk, disturbing old coffee cups and sandwich wrappers. "The fundraiser didn't go as well as expected."

"How well did you expect it to go?" I ask.

"Not well at all."

"Oh," I say, then realise what he means. "_Oh_. So…were they your superiors?"

"No." Bernard says it so matter-of-factly, like _no one's_ his superior. "They're from a…rival museum. They wanted to discuss the critical failure of the fundraiser."

"Are you allowed to do that?" I ask, furrowing my brow. Bernard shrugs.

"Who cares? A failure's a failure. They'd find out eventually."

"Will the museum be closing down then?"

Bernard closes his eyes and runs his fingers through his hair. "I don't know." The admission is plain and simple, yet it seems to speak volumes. He pulls off his glasses and I'm suddenly struck by how much younger he looks without them. He looks tired. Scared. Unsure. Three things I never thought I'd associate with Bernard.

"Come on," I say, making my decision very quickly. I stand up and yank Bernard up by the wrist. "I'm taking you out."

Before Bernard can protest, I drag him out of the office. The coffee cup sits abandoned on his desk, wisps of steam curling off it like ghosts.

* * *

The sun is beating down hot and strong as we walk on the sidewalk. Children are laughing and screaming, their feet burning hot from the heat of the pavement. Somewhere in the park a child has stolen a sprinkler from home. It spins around in a mad circle, splattering even us with droplets of water.

"Do I _look _like I want a cupcake?" Bernard snaps, but it only has half the venom it usually does so I ignore him and continue waving the pink-frosted cupcake in his face.

"Yes. Come on, I can't finish six!"

"You shouldn't have bought it then," he retorts. Throughout the course of our day he'd removed about half the layers he usually wears so now he's only in his dress slacks and a short-sleeved dress shirt. The casual, yet sophisticated, style suits him.

"Just eat the damn thing!" I order, shoving the box at him. To stop him from shoving it back at me, I clasp both my hands around the super-sized pink lemonade I had bought. It still has large chunks of ice inside and gives my palms a lingering numbness.

"You are without a doubt the most infuriating girl ever," Bernard declares, staring at the cupcakes like they contain traces of poison instead of traces of edible glitter.

"I bet you say that to all the girls," I say dryly, slurping away at the lemonade. We reach a bench and I pause to sling off my sandals and roll up my jeans so that they're about knee length. _Damn_, it's hot today.

We walk in a comfortable silence for a little while, then Bernard breaks it again. "She was a bitch."

I glance at him, startled. "Pardon?"

"My sister," he elaborates. "You wanted to know what she was like. She was a bitch. The biggest one I'd ever met."

"She can't be _that_ bad," I object, because I might despise Roxie but she's still my sister and I'm pretty much obligated to love her. Bernard gives me a scathing look, guessing exactly what I'm thinking.

"No, she really is that bad. So next time you want to complain about your sister, stop and think for a moment that maybe you don't have it all that bad. Just because she isn't the best doesn't mean she's the worst."

I think of Keith and his sisters. Jamie, who has lived away from them long enough to get married and have a kid, and yet still remain closer than Roxanne and I are with 20 years of living experience at our backs. Stacey, who is cool, elegant and pretty much everything anyone would want in an older sister, and yet still warm enough to love her siblings to pieces. Lynette, who is beautiful and smart, and yet cusses up a storm and fits each of her siblings in her own unique way. And finally Sarah. Little baby Sarah. Little, adoring, idolises-her-older-siblings-to-bits Sarah.

And then I think of Bernard and his mystery sister. Who has still managed to leave this mark on Bernard after all these years.

"No," I say, swiping a cupcake from the box in Bernard's hands and licking the frosting. The pieces of edible glitter are sharp on my tongue. "I suppose she isn't."

* * *

When I spill into the apartment, it's empty. There's a single note pinned to corkboard that Roxanne and I use to pass on messages.

_Kidnapped. Get your own dinner._

I glance at it, then shrug and sit on the armrest of the couch. By the time Minion knocks on the door, I've slid backwards off it and am staring at the ceiling.

"Hey, Shirley?" I say later as Minion's chopping up onions.

"Yes, Miss Ritchi?"

"If you could choose only one memory to remember for the rest of your life, what would it be?"

"Why, the day I was born, of course!" Minion says brightly as if it's not a weird thing to say at all. I turn my head slightly to the side to stare at him.

"Shirley…people don't usually remember the day they were born…"

Minion freezes, then laughs shakily. "O-Of course, I didn't mean _literally_…I meant…figuratively. You know, like the day I became a whole new person."

"Of course," I say, letting my head loll back to normal.

"Why, what would you choose?" Minion asks in an attempt to gloss over his mistake. I think about it. The sun has made me feel boneless and sleepy.

"I'd choose…a day…filled with pink lemonade and edible glitter and sunshine…"

"Sunshine's always nice," Minion offers tentatively, trying not to show his confusion at my dreamy words. I nod, my eyes fluttering closed.

"When I go back home, I'll miss these sweet summer days…"

"But it isn't summer," Minion says in confusion, but I've already dozed off.

_And bare skin and cupcakes and sprinklers…_

* * *

I wake up when Metro Man flies through the open balcony doors and sets Roxanne down on her feet.

"Thank you, Wayne," she says softly and I laugh without meaning to. _Wayne_? Metro Man's name is _Wayne_? That's just embarrassing. "Grace! Have you been sleeping?"

"Wayne's a really stupid name," I tell Metro Man honestly, still dazed from both tiredness and the excess of sun. He looks embarrassed.

"Well, it was the name my parents gave me! And that is more than enough from them."

"Sappy," I note, yawning halfway through the word. My mouth feels like it's full of cotton wool. I've fallen asleep face down on the couch and I'm about 99% sure it's imprinted on my face. Delightful. "Hey, Metro Man, do you know Sarah Colbert?"

Metro Man's eyebrows practically disappear beneath his hairline as he stares at me. "Sarah Colbert?"

"Yeah. She's about yea high…tanned, pretty…got a freckle here?" I tap the corner of my eye.

"No, I remember her," Metro Man says, still looking surprised. "Gosh, she'd be about…how old now? Fifteen?"

"I think she's turning sixteen soon," I reply. Metro Man nods, but it's absentminded.

"Of course. I saved her three years ago, when she was thirteen."

I tilt my head at him, blinking owlishly. "Saved her? What'd you save her from?"

"Well, I had been transporting some criminals one day when I heard a scream," Metro Man began, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "It had come from a forest on the outskirts of town. There were four boys who had been mucking around there. Sarah was there too. They had been messing about on an abandoned bridge they found, when the bridge suddenly broke. The boys manage to get to safety, but Sarah fell into the river and was swept downstream. She would have drowned if I hadn't come across her on time."

"Drowned?" I repeat, blinking in shock at Metro Man. I can't imagine little baby Sarah _drowning_. Or dying. At all. I let my face drop back down to the couch. "Well, thank you."

There's a very stunned silence, then Roxanne and Metro Man burst out at the same time, "_What_?"

"Thank you," I repeat into the couch, the rough fibres scratching my face. This is the worst couch _ever_, Roxanne, what the hell were you thinking? "I like Sarah. I'm happy she's still alive."

"Y-You're welcome," Metro Man says, still sounding stunned. I lift my head. Roxanne's staring at me like she's very seriously debating whether or not to get me tested for drugs. Her look fades when she sees me staring fuzzily at her.

"Well, Grace, you're clearly…exhausted." _I hope_, she doesn't have to add. "Let's get you to bed. Thank you again, Wayne, for saving me and taking me home."

"Just doing my job," Metro Man replies and then I think it's because his teeth are so white and shiny that they remind me off the moon that I fall back asleep.

* * *

"You look tired," Keith comments as I rummage around in Roxanne's drawers for a pair of sunglasses.

"Word of advice, Keith," I call back. A camera dangles from my wrist, bumping into the drawer loudly. "Never take a damn nap at dinner time. You will wake up at midnight and won't be able to sleep again."

"Uh, that doesn't work for me. I sleep after midnight anyway."

"Freak," I say, then let out a triumphant croon when I find a pair of Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses. I slide them on and make my way back downstairs. "Okay, I'm done. Where are we going?"

"Strip mall!" Keith says cheerfully, swinging his backpack back on and watching me flick the air con off. I'm wearing a pair of Roxanne's old denim shorts, cinched tight by one of my own belts, and they're considerably cooler than my jeans.

"Why, need to replenish your makeup stores?" I taunt as we step out of the apartment and I lock up.

"You're just jealous because I'm pretty. No, it's because there's a new ice cream place that's just opened up! I want bubblegum ice cream!"

"…what the hell is bubblegum ice cream?" I ask, almost afraid to know.

"It's quite simple, Museum Girl," Keith whispers in a stage whisper. "Bubblegum + Ice Cream = Bubblegum Ice Cream."

I almost smack him, but then stop when his nickname reminds me of the last missing member of our trio. "Hey, let's call Bernard. He sounded stressed yesterday."

"_Dibs_!" Keith bellows, leaping for his phone and I wonder if I should be weirded out that my best friend is more enthusiastic about my other best friend than me?

Did I just consider them my best friends? Oh, hell, whatever. They are.

* * *

If I thought that Minion disguised as Shirley Temple was funny, then seeing Bernard – in a suit, surrounded by children, at an ice cream parlour, sitting in a booth decorated to look like the inside of a banana split, looking like he wanted to kill someone – is side-splittingly _hilarious_. I whip my camera out and take a picture without even thinking about it.

"A horse walks into a bar," Keith begins sunnily, sliding into the seat next to Bernard. He still looks vaguely stunned from the flash. "The bartender says 'Hey, why the long face?'"

"Baddum-tssh," I offer. Bernard recovers and sends us both a scowl.

"This better be important. I have better things to do."

I blink and glance at Keith. What the hell did he tell him? Keith sends me a reassuring – well, not so much since it's _Keith_ – grin and turns back to Bernard. "Right. The emergency is…Grace doesn't know what bubblegum ice cream is."

Bernard pins Keith with a look that is disbelieving and scornful all at once. Then he turns around. "I'm leaving. Where's my wallet?"

"Oh, come on, Bernard," I whine, looking at him over my – _Roxanne's_ – sunglasses. Wow, I didn't realise there was such a difference between sunglasses and non-sunglasses. Why do people wear these again? "It's the weekend."

"Convincing argument," Bernard says sarcastically, but sits back down. Score. I drag a menu over and look at it.

"Ice cream or sundae?" I ask as I inspect the colourful pictures.

"Sundae!" Keith bellows so loudly that people actually look over. I kick him warningly, except I sort of forget to factor in the distance and kick him in a place he really didn't want to be kicked. His eyes bug out and I wince.

"Oops."

"_My future children_," Keith wheezes, hands disappearing beneath the table. "_You've…killed them…_"

"Hallelujah," Bernard deadpans as he cracks open his own menu. "Finally, some good news."

"I'll buy you a sundae," I promise reluctantly and it's _amazing_ how quickly Keith recovers.

"This one, mama!" Keith cries childishly, pointing at a sundae decorated to look like Mickey Mouse. I peer at it, raising an eyebrow.

"Keith, that's from the kids section. Why would you want that?"

"Because it's everything I ever wanted," Keith says seriously. He holds up the menu next to the face and his expression is so ridiculous that I take a picture.

"Hey they have a Minnie Mouse one too!" I exclaim, snatching the menu from Keith. "Wow, it's really cute. Maybe _I'll_ get one."

"Why am I friends with you two?" Bernard mumbles, sinking down in the booth. I scowl, but Keith looks delighted.

"Bernie! You just admitted we're friends!"

"A dire mistake, trust me," Bernard says flatly. But there's a gleam in his eyes that isn't entirely scorn, so I clap my hands and take a picture.

* * *

The next morning when Keith, Bernard and I meet up at the wall, Keith is holding a piece of paper.

"I want to go to this!" Keith declares, holding the paper out. It's a flyer. A brochure. Advertising…

"A school fair?" I say doubtfully, taking the paper. Keith beams sunnily.

"It has a jumping castle!"

"I'm almost positive that we've long passed the socially acceptable age for attending school fairs," Bernard says dryly, but he's peeking over my shoulder at the flyer.

"I'm almost positive that you pass that age once you finish school," I reply, quirking an eyebrow at the flyer.

"C'mon, you guys!" Keith whines, stomping his foot childishly. "It's Metro City Elementary! Bernard, even _you_ must have good memories from it!"

"You're mistaken," Bernard says tonelessly, turning away. Keith looks disappointed.

"Well, I guess it's too much to hope that you'd have _any_ good memories of _anything_."

"Not about that. I never went to Metro City Elementary."

Keith's eyebrows shoot up and disappear beneath his fringe. "Seriously? But it's like one of the only elementary schools in Metro City. Except for that one near the prison."

We practically have to drag it out of Bernard, but eventually he admits, "I wasn't raised in Metro City.""No way!" Keith says, surprised. Then he brightens up gleefully. "I knew it. You _do_ have that Texan feel to you."

Bernard stares at Keith, as do I. What the actual fuck. Then Bernard shakes his head. "Er…no. I was raised in Manhattan."

"Close enough," Keith says dismissively, even though it totally _isn't_. "So why'd you come to Metro City then?"

I sigh. We all know what Bernard's reaction will be. Sure enough, he scowls. "None of your business. Are we going to the school fair or not?"

* * *

Bernard and I are both leaning on our elbows on the fence surrounding the jumping castle; me leaning forwards facing it and Bernard leaning backwards facing away from it. Keith whoops as he bounces into the air. He's quite easily the oldest there and some people mutter and point at him as they walk past. Some people recognise him, however, and wave as they walk past.

"You can ask, you know," Bernard says gruffly. I watch as a giggling group of teenage girls slip off their shoes and join Keith on the jumping castle. He greets them easily, holding out hands for them to take. "About my home life. I can see you're physically restraining yourself from doing it."

"I don't need to," I say simply. I already understand the need to get away from my hometown. "But why'd you choose here of all places?"

Bernard responds by looking at me like I'm an idiot. "The city has their own _superhero_, Grace."

I don't know why people keep telling me that, it isn't like I don't already _know_. "But the people here are idiots. They don't appreciate history."

"Sometimes it's easier to be around idiots," Bernard answers. The sun beating down on his face makes his features look soft and unguarded. "They don't ask the right questions."

I had been tilting my head so that I was looking at him from the corner of my eye; now I angle it so I'm full-blown staring at Bernard. "The right questions? Like what?"

He makes a buzzing noise like the buzzer of a game show. "Another wrong question."

I squint at him. I don't understand him sometimes. One moment he's fleeing from my prying into his home life, the next he's getting huffy with me for not asking enough. I sigh, leaning back onto the scorching hot metal fence.

"I'll figure you out one day, Bernard."

Bernard looks down at me. His eyes are a rich brown colour, and I notice for the first time that they have little amber flecks in them. He breaks eye contact with me after a few moments and looks over his shoulder at Keith, then rolls his eyes and turns back around. I look up. I sigh. I look back down.

About fifty girls – all ranging from ages thirteen to their thirty – have clustered onto the jumping castle with Keith and are clamouring for his attention.

* * *

**O Keith. Such a lady killer. And there you go, lovely readers! Lots of Bernard time! I figure at this stage, both he and Grace are getting over their curiosity of each other and are just trying to edge forward. And the story is finally moving forward! **

**Also, now you know why I keep bringing in Matthew Peterson. Keith actually has a reason why he's so attached and worshipping of Metro Man. Although I imagine his feelings towards Metro Man were over 50% inane adoration even **_**before**_** Metro Man saved Sarah.**


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything except my OC's.**

**Did I accidentally proclaim my love for Hitler or something last chapter? I expected more enthusiasm for a chapter entirely focused on Bernard and Grace's relationship. **

**On another note, I just realised how slowly this is moving so I'm trying to pick up the pace. Hopefully it won't be **_**too**_** fast though.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

It's almost a shame for my (extended) weekend to end, but come Monday morning I'm stuck behind the counter of the Bean Baby, ringing up a customer's order.

"That'll be $6.40," I say dully, sliding the order across to Keith. Money is exchanged and soon the customer has left with their drink. I sigh, dragging across a stool to sit on.

"I got _this many_ phone numbers," Keith says smugly, holding his hands up like a preschooler. I peer at him.

"Keith, you're just holding up both hands."

"I know."

Deep breaths, Grace, deep breaths. It isn't your fault you have a slut for a friend. "You calling any of them?"

"What?" Keith sounds surprised that I asked. "Hell no. Why would I want a girl who resorts to elementary school fairs to pick up guys?"

Maybe Keith has standards after all. I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from grinning and ring up the next customer.

* * *

By the time Bernard finally comes in, my shift's almost over. This sets off warning bells already. He's also fuming; his eyebrows knitted together in a frown and his eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Coffee," he orders, slamming down money on the countertop. "Now."

I debate singing back '_What's the magic word?'_ but ultimately decide better and ring up the order. When Keith scurries away to make it, Bernard finally talks.

"They're shutting down the museum."

I feel my jaw drop open. "What?! Why?!"

Bernard rubs a hand over his eyes. He looks tired. "It's costing too much to upkeep and not getting enough money in return. Our profit margin's been in the negatives for too long."

"Oh, Bernard," I say unhappily. His hand's still on the counter and I pat it. He doesn't withdraw, which I find is immensely encouraging. "Will you be able to get another job?"

Bernard hesitates. After a while he shrugs. "Who knows? There's a lot of people out there who can do my job."

"What job?" Keith asks, returning with Bernard's drink. He snatches it from him, his scowl returning.

"Nothing. What took you so long?"

"Well good morning, star shine!" Keith exclaims mockingly, even though it isn't even morning. I grab a cookie from the jar and shove it at Bernard.

"Here, Bernard. On the house."

Bernard accepts with a jerk of his head and spins on his heel, stomping out. Keith quirks an eyebrow, first at me, then at Bernard.

"Um, 1. You aren't allowed to do that and 2. What's got his panties in a bunch?"

I don't dignify either question with a response; just scrunch my hand up in the tip jar and take out enough money to cover the cookie.

* * *

"I've regressed back to kindergarten," I realise, letting the picture of the Eiffel Tower float to the countertop. Keith glances up at me. His hair is still vaguely pink-tinted due to the paint I dropped on him last night at dinner.

"I'm not complaining," he returns cheerfully. Two corkboards lie in front of us on the floor. Magazine and pages and pages of images taken from Google surround them. The manager of the Bean Baby decided that with the new museum opening up, the Bean Baby would benefit from being cultured. So Keith and I were one of the lucky few who were chosen to decorate a corkboard with pictures of a certain country. Mine was France. His was Egypt.

"I never imagined this was what you'd do in a coffee shop," I muse as I pin a picture of the Arc de Triomphe right underneath the 'a' of 'France'. "I thought there'd be a lot more serving customers involved."

"You'd think so but no," Keith answers as he crams about eight pictures of pyramids onto his corkboard. "Talked to Bernard lately?"

I frown at the reminder. "No." Like, at all. It's like he's disappeared.

"Maybe he's retreated back into his hidey-hole," Keith suggests more cheerfully than warranted. He takes a tube of red glitter and squeezes it. It practically explodes out of the tube, sending up a mushroom cloud of glitter. God, this really is kindergarten.

"Careful there, Keith, you almost got glitter on your art project," I taunt, wiping glitter off my pants. Keith scowls at me. Glitter spatters across his cheeks like shiny little freckles.

"This isn't an art project. This is our PR stint, dammit!"

As we're bickering, Richard pokes his head around the corner. He looks bashful. "Do you guys have any pictures of the Great Wall of China?" Not even our esteemed supervisor escaped craft duty. I hand him the papers we have on China and he nods at me. "Thanks. Hey, your little friend hasn't been around."

I swear I nearly have a heart attack. "You've _noticed_?"

Richard frowns at me. "Of course I've noticed. The café gets extremely noisy when he's here. You two should be doing your jobs, by the way."

"Chillax, Richard!" Keith says brightly as he squirts glitter glue on a picture of Tutankhamen. Before I can rib him about saying chillax, he continues. "He always come when there's no one around. We can afford to goof off."

Richard shrugs. "Just make sure he doesn't interfere with the customers." Then he's gone again.

"He's right though," Keith adds, cheerfully drawing a moustache on Tutankhamen's face with glitter glue. "It's already Thursday. Bernard hasn't come in since, what…Monday? Tuesday?"

"Monday," I correct, carefully cutting out a picture of a chateau. "Right after our little weekend together." I smile at the memory.

"Fun times," Keith agrees, smiling nostalgically. "But what's Bernard doing?"

"How should I know?" I mutter crossly, feeling a twinge of hurt. "He doesn't talk to me."

"He doesn't talk to _anyone_," Keith corrects. Then his face softens a smidgeon and he flicks my temple lightly. "But, you know, Grace…if he'd talk to someone, it'd be you."

I don't mention how ridiculously happy it makes me to hear that, and Keith doesn't mention how my face lights up anyway.

* * *

When I come home, Roxanne is face down on the couch.

"I'm not making dinner," she says into the cushions as I dump my bag by the doorway and slump into an armchair. "I'm going to order takeout. Chinese okay with you?"

"Whatever," I say, looking at her curiously. She looks – from what I can see of her that isn't smooshed into the couch – tired. And a bit upset. I vaguely wonder what happened.

"How was work?" Roxanne asks me after a while, more to be polite than anything.

"It was fine," I say, only half lying. I look down at my lap. My jeans are still speckled with purple glitter and I pull a face, trying to rub it away. Then I stop, reminded of what got _me_ into such a funk. "Hey, Roxanne, you have connections, right?"

"Connections?" Roxanne repeats, my question bewildering her enough to raise her head from the couch. She squints in confusion at me. "To what? And what for?"

"I have a…" I pause, trying to figure out what Bernard is. "…_friend_ who works in a museum. And his museum is closing down. He doesn't know where to find a job. I was wondering if _you_ knew anyone who could hire him."

Roxanne pushes herself up from the couch, her eyes glinting with determination. "I don't, but I could pull a few strings and find out."

"Yes please," I chirp, watching as she scrambles off the couch and runs for her little book of contacts. Any tiredness or sadness in her features has ebbed away, replaced by a single-minded focus on the task.

When Roxanne is about halfway through her contact list, she takes a break to make us dinner, seemingly forgetting completely of the takeout we were going to order.

* * *

The next early afternoon finds the Colbert house extraordinarily quiet. The only sounds are the scratching of pencil on paper, the clicking of my mouse and tapping of my keyboard, and the _swish_ of pages as Stacey flicks through her book.

Anna walks in, takes one look at us and scowls.

"None of you are supposed to be here," she accuses, turning first to a mildly alarmed Sarah. "_You_ are supposed to be at school. _You -_" she turns to Lynette. "-are supposed to be at Metro State College, _you_-" she turns to Stacey. "-are supposed to be at work, _you_-" she turns to Keith. "-promised me you'd take Spuckler to the vet, and _you…_" she turns to me, then pauses. After a while she flashes me a cheerful beam. "Well, you, Grace, you can stay where you are."

I smile smugly while Keith mutters something rudely in my direction. Anna puts her hands on her hips, glaring at her children.

"Well? What do you all have to say?"

"I feel sick, mama," Sarah whines, turning her big, pleading eyes onto her mother. "So the office let me go home."

"Dad took Spuckler!" Keith wails, cowering back from Anna.

"I need to work on my thesis," Lynette mumbles through a mouthful of various highlighters, scribbling something on the essay in front of her. Stacey stares boredly up at Anna, meeting her gaze evenly.

"I just didn't want to go."

"Silly child," Anna says as she smacks Stacey, but she sounds affectionate and the smack isn't hard. Anna takes a seat at the window and watches us all. After a while, she breaks the silence. "Grace, what _are_ you doing here?"

When I had first gotten to the Colbert house, I had brought a slushee with me. Now the slushee is gone and I'm just chewing the straw. I pull it out of my mouth to smile at Anna. "I needed access to the internet and I don't know the password to Roxanne's computer. Keith let me borrow his laptop."

Anna blinks at me. "The internet? Whatever for?"

I hesitate, looking down at the page in front of me. "Um…just helping a friend job hunt."

Unlike Roxanne, Anna doesn't know me well enough to be suspicious of the fact that I know somebody. She accepts my word and stands up. "Well, alright. Good luck, dear. I'm going to go get a bit of work done."

"Bye, Anna," I chirp as Anna sashays off. I return my gaze to the screen in front of me, sticking the straw back into my mouth. Of all the museums in Metro City, only four of them were hiring _at all_ – whether corporate or janitor. I had bookmarked the ones that seemed vaguely appropriate for Bernard – exhibitions registrar and technician. I didn't really know what Bernard was or what qualifications he had, so I had to use a bit of artistic licence.

"Keith, I need to borrow your printer," I order, hitting the print button on the page before he can reply.

* * *

I'm curled up on my bed, reading a book, when I hear the front door open and Roxanne call out, "Grace, can you come here please?"

When I join her in the living room, there's an elderly man next to her. He's small and wizened and wrinkled, but his suit is immaculate and he has a pair of silver frames perched on the end of his nose.

"Grace, this is Dr Andrews," Roxanne says with her Reporter Smile.

"Oh," I say blankly, trying to figure out why there's a doctor standing in our living room. "Hello."

"Dr Andrews is in charge of the Natural History Museum of Metro City," Roxanne says pointedly, her smile turning sharp. And suddenly I understand what she's doing, and I want to kiss her for it.

"What a fascinating job that must be!" I say brightly, thrusting my hand forward and shaking his hand energetically. "You must have a lot of fun."

"Well, it keeps me busy," Dr Andrews says in a reedy voice, chuckling softly. Roxanne flashes us a beam.

"Well, I'll let you two talk. I need to go make dinner. Do you like Salisbury steak, Dr Andrews?"

"Oh, I can eat anything that will grant me a dinner with the esteemed Roxanne Ritchi," Dr Andrews says, the corners of his eyes wrinkling as he beams at Roxanne. Roxanne laughs and totters off to the kitchen. I make idle conversation with Dr Andrews, but the conversation turns…less idle when I learn that Dr Andrews has actually been inside the Pyramids of Giza. As Dr Andrews recounts his experience, I sit with my head in my hands, staring at him in enrapturement.

"It is wonderfully spectacular, though of course to get down to the burial chamber of Khufu's pyramid, you must bend down for most – if not all – of the way," Dr Andrews finishes. I nod rapidly.

"Of course, but that shouldn't even matter! What was the burial chamber like?"

Dr Andrews sighs forlornly. "Sadly inaccessible. Many people don't mind, however, as it is still unfinished."

"That shouldn't matter either!" I argue hotly, pulling my head from my hands. "Imagine, getting to catch even a _glimpse_ of a civilisation in the making. That would be worth a thousand treks into Khufu's pyramid!"

Dr Andrews beams widely, but Roxanne cuts across him as she begins to set the table. "Fascinating. Grace, don't you have a friend who works in a museum?"

I flinch at her admonishing stare and realise I completely forgot about the _real_ reason Dr Andrews is here. "Oh yeah. Such sad business though…"

"Sad?" Dr Andrews exclaims, blinking owlishly at me. "What's sad?"

I sigh sadly, resting my head back in my hands. "My friend, he works at the museum just a few blocks away. And…it's closing down, you see."

Dr Andrews' jaw drops. "What?! Whatever for?!"

I shrug forlornly. "I'm not sure. I think it wasn't making enough money. But my friend…he's going to be jobless soon. And you know how competitive jobs in museums are, since history is so fascinating."

Dr Andrews nods sombrely. "Indeed, it's always a sad day when a museum closes. It's like a little piece of history being lost forever."

"It's too bad you couldn't help him find a job, sir," I say, casting my gaze downwards. "I think he'd _love_ to work with you."

"Grace, Dr Andrews isn't running an unemployment office," Roxanne chides loudly, giving me a stern look. "I'm sure he has plenty of other candidates to consider."

I nod sadly. "Unfortunately. But my friend would make such a good worker!"

I sneak a glance sidewards and silently cheer when I see that Dr Andrews looks thoughtful. "This friend of yours…what does he work as?"

I frown when I realise I don't know. "I'm…not sure. I think he's a director of some sort? He was in charge of selling some of the artefacts at one point, and at another he was in charge of the fundraiser they were having."

"Most likely something to do with public relations then," Dr Andrews says thoughtfully. He nods and pats my hand with his own. "Well, if your friend is as charming as you then I'm sure it would be worth entertaining a job interview with him. If he can't find a job, you tell him to look for Dr John Andrews of the Natural History Museum of Metro City."

Score. I smother a triumphant grin. "Oh, thank you so much, Dr Andrews! You have no idea how much this means to me."

Dr Andrews chuckles at me. "Oh, it isn't everyday you find such a young one with a passion for history. I hope your friend appreciates how much work you're putting into this for him."

"I highly doubt it, but thank you anyway," I say dryly. Dr Andrews shakes his head in wonder.

"You have a friend that doesn't appreciate you, but you would help him find a job anyway? I don't think the sister of Roxanne Ritchi would flatter and entertain an old man for anyone. You must care a great deal for him."

Care for…Bernard? I try to ignore the way my heart _pings_ at the thought. I smile in embarrassment. "Well, maybe just a little…"

Dr Andrews laughs at me. "I would think more than a little! Just the thought of him has got you red as roses! I'm getting more and more excited to meet this man as the evening goes by."

My cheeks flood with even more colour. "I-"

"Dinner's ready!" Roxanne calls, bustling over with three plates of food.

* * *

"Well, you look like shit," Keith says cheerfully as I slide behind the counter on Monday morning, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Stacey had attacked me with makeup to try and hide the damage, but it sort of just made it worse. "Couldn't sleep?"

"You'd know," I snap at him. Due to Keith's stupid midnight cravings, I had pulled not one, but _two_ all-nighters on the weekend. Keith grins.

"Yeah, I would. Nothing beats midnight Mickey D's runs!"

Before I can whack Keith and his unrepentant smirk, Richard joins us behind the counter. "Heads up. Looks like a tour group."

"Well, crap," Keith says as he stares out the window at the crowd heading towards the Bean Baby.

"I don't have enough caffeine in me to deal with this," I say, yawning halfway through my sentence. The ground begins to rumble.

"Red Fox standing by," Richard reports, one hand on a stack of Styrofoam cups.

The bell chimes as the door opens, and we're swept up in the chaos of the day.

* * *

The tour groups just keep _coming. _Serving that many people is actually physically exhausting, and by the time it's all over, both Keith and I are ready to drop.

"Seems the rush hour has finished," Richard remarks as I drum my fingers on the countertop. I nod and Keith grunts. "You two can take your break now if you want. I'll take over."

Keith is already out the door. I linger to thank Richard, then immediately head out to hunt down Bernard. The museum is empty of everyone but the security guards, who nod when they see me. I head to Bernard's office, pausing curiously when I see the door's open. Voices are spilling out of the office, and I feel my heart stop when I recognise the voice that isn't Bernard's. I jump for the doorway and stare at the scene inside. Papers are spread out on the desk, but Bernard isn't looking at them. The woman opposite him is chattering away cheerfully, her hands making gestures every so often. There's the slightest hint of amusement in Bernard's eyes.

"Interesting," is all he says when she's done. "I knew they'd accept you, Jamie."

* * *

**Sorry for the wait :( I had this done a while ago, but I really hated how it was flowing and couldn't figure out how to make it better. Still can't, but I hate it slightly less.**

**Interesting story, I did some research and it would have cost Dr Andrews a fortune to get into the pyramids. I let it slide though. Maybe he's rich.**

**Also I should rename this story to "Shivaun18's adventures in finding out what white people eat." Next time I should just make the main character Asian. Thank you to the wonderful Dumb Genius for the ideas of dinner for the Ritchis! (Also Dr Andrews.)**

**Another note, I have a lot of feels about Roxanne. She's so unhappy by the time the movie starts (as seen in the scene in the library) and one flaw I've given Grace is that she's a little self absorbed so she doesn't notice that Roxanne is upset over their relationship. Maybe one day soon the sisters will fix their relationship. (I suspect the claws will come out.)**

**Next chapter is coming along, so reviews plz. Writers don't do fanfictions for the reviews, but they're nice and provide motivation :)**

**(PS. How many Rise of the Guardians fans do I have reading this? I'm considering uploading a Bunnymund/OC story – I really like OC stories, in case you haven't noticed – but I'm slightly hesitant as to who would like it. It'd include genies!)**


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything except my OC's.**

* * *

There are two identical cups of coffee in between her and Bernard. Steam curls from them and catches in the light, smoky and heavy. _Jamie hates coffee_, Keith had said, except apparently she _didn't_.

"Oh," Jamie says, surprised. "Grace. Hi. I didn't know you knew Bernard."

"Jamie," I echo wanly. She's wearing her usual three quarter jeans and paint spattered dress shirt, but it's unbuttoned and the singlet underneath is cut low; her full, pale breasts curving over it. Before I can stop myself, I begin calculating the age gap between her and him. I stop myself when I realise it's too close for any man to dismiss as too much. "Well. I'll guess I'll be-"

"No, stay," she says hurriedly, gathering her things. "I was just about to go. I just came to show Bernard the sketch of the statue I was doing."

Confusion flickers through me, filtering through the unfurling sense of hurt. "Statue? Why?"

"I thought as the curator, he'd want to see it," Jamie explains, but trails off when she sees my gobsmacked expression and Bernard's irritated one. "Didn't you…know? He's going to be…the curator…at the Metro Man Museum…"

"Well _now _she knows," Bernard says sarcastically. Jamie shifts uneasily, sensing the incoming storm.

"Well, I'm going to go now. Pippy'll finish day care soon. Bye, Bernard, Grace…"

I barely register as Jamie scurries out. Bernard has his arms folded and his face is blank. Every part of him is cut off from me.

"You could have told me," I mumble, feeling my shoulders hunch over. "You never even told me you _were_ a curator."

"Did it matter?" Bernard replies, his right eyebrow rising slightly on his face.

"Of course it mattered," I snap, suddenly furious at _everything_. At Bernard for not opening up to me, at Jamie for getting so close to Bernard, at _myself_ for not being able to do the same, for expecting to get as far… "I thought you were unemployed. I was going to help you look for a job."

"I'm touched," Bernard drawls sarcastically, his shoulders tightening. I shake my head in disgust. There's a pool of anger inside my chest that is burning up inside me. I'm just so sick of trying with him.

"So why?"

This takes him off guard for a moment. "What?"

"Why were you picked as the curator for his museum?" I demand. "There has to be a million others who could have."

"None have my training," Bernard says sullenly. "I'm the only curator in the immediate area who's mastered in both Metro Man and Megamind."

This actually manages to slip past my anger at Bernard and I gawp incredulously at him. "You mastered in _Metro Man_?"

I almost think I see Bernard smile, but his lips twist in a scowl easily enough.

"The man is a superhero, Grace," Bernard says coolly, the skin around his eyes tight. "He saves lives."

"I _know_-"

"No, I don't think you do," Bernard cuts over me in a voice that is cool, calm and 100% controlled. Little by little, he's beginning to turn into that passive, emotionless young man I embarrassed myself in front of in the Bean Baby. "I don't think you understand the _extent_ of how he saves lives. He doesn't just protect everyone from criminals, he protects people from _themselves._ Do you have any idea how many suicides he's stopped in the past year alone? You may enjoy ridiculing him for his ego – which I won't deny he has an excess of – but you don't have any idea of the impact he's made on this city."

My chest is tight, not just with anger but embarrassment and just plain _sadness_. I lift my head a little higher and pin Bernard with a gaze I hope is incensed but I know only shows pity.

"Well, at the end of the day I'm sure that knowledge will keep you warm at night," I say in a voice that comes out more tired than anything. It's hard putting so much effort into a one way relationship, and quite frankly I'm not sure it's paying off. "But it will never compare to the love you get from people you let in."

Bernard doesn't say anything, and I take that as an excuse to leave.

* * *

Keith is waiting for me on the steps outside. He stands when he sees me.

"Alright, Museum Girl?" Keith asks warily, like I'm a bomb about to go off. I brush past him without touching or looking at him.

"Come on," I murmur distractedly, ducking the arm of a man hailing a taxi. "We have to get back to work."

* * *

I don't go back to Keith's for dinner that night, mainly because I'm 88% sure Jamie told Keith about mine and Bernard's argument and the Colberts seems to have a hive mind. When one of them knows something, they _all_ know something. Instead, I actually go home for dinner. Roxanne is surprised to see me, but she's humming while she makes dinner.

"You seem upset," Roxanne notes as I help her clean up after dinner. I lift my shoulders in a shrug. "Did something happen at work?"

"No," I say truthfully. Well it _didn't_.

"Is it about Keith?" Roxanne pesters. _Wrong friend_. Roxanne takes my silence for confirmation. "Well, Grace…we lose friends a lot. At the end of the day, it's our family who sticks around. Not our friends. You'll always have me."

_No, Roxanne. I've _never_ had family. And I'll never have you_. "Thank you for that inspiring wisdom, sensei."

"You're welcome, young grasshopper," Roxanne returns with an equal amount of sarcasm, flicking a bit of soapy water in my general direction. "Now c'mon, these dishes aren't going to dry themselves."

* * *

"Heads," Keith calls. I bend forward fractionally and a pink marshmallow sails past the back of my head, then lands right inside an empty coffee cup on top of the espresso machine. Keith lets out a triumphant croon, but I ignore him and continue flicking through _Caesar's Legacy _by Josiah Osgood.

"Talk about a slow day," Stacey sighs lazily, stirring her lukewarm mocha latte with one of the cheap wooden sticks we provide by the dozen. I'm not really sure why she's here. Doesn't she have work? "No wonder you don't go to college, Keith, you get paid to do nothing."

"I'll go eventually," Keith says indignantly, scooping another handful of marshmallows out of the jar. "I'm just taking…a little break. Just a few semesters."

"Or years," Stacey mutters sarcastically. She sticks her stick into her mouth, sucking the cream off of it as she looks up at me through heavy-lidded eyes. "What about you, Grace? You ever going home to study?"

"No thanks," I say disinterestedly, eyes glued to my book. "I already have someone to crap on my dreams and make me feel bad here."

Stacey stills and Keith's next marshmallow misses, knocking over the cup and making it topple into the space behind the counter. He curses and peers into the crack.

"Well, that's not coming back."

"No one cares about your marshmallows, Keith," Stacey snaps at him, then turns to me. "Grace, did something happen with Bernard?"

I throw my hands up, pushing myself away from the counter. "Why does everyone automatically think it's because of Bernard whenever I'm moody? I have a life outside of him, you know."

"Could've fooled me," Keith mumbles, but Stacey throws her stick at Keith's head. She turns back to me and leans across the counter in concern.

"Keith said at dinner last week that Jamie told him she left you and Bernard in an argument," Stacey tells me, her face open and earnest. But her words make me scowl and I turn to Keith.

"God dammit, Keith!"

"What?" Keith whines, trying to block my hits as I whack him with my book. "Mom was wondering why you didn't come back for dinner!"

"My private life is none of your damn business!" I snap at him. Stacey leans closer in interest.

"So it's true? You and Bernard _do_ have a private life?"

"We don't have anything," I say, scowling as I turn back to the second oldest Colbert sibling. An entire week has flown by without me seeing Bernard, something which I'm not sure I'm disappointed about or not. Stacey, contrary to my expectation, looks even more intrigued.

"So you two had a fight?"

I eye Stacey a little, a little apprehensive at her nosiness. I've barely talked to Stacey, except for the odd exchange whenever I pass her at the Colbert house. I don't know her well enough to talk about my problems, and especially not _Bernard_.

"So what if we did?" I mumble eventually, crossing my arms over my chest.

"What about?" Stacey prompts, looking a tad impatient. I bite my lip, trying to decide what to say. How can I even _begin_ to explain? Bernard isn't my boyfriend, and he certainly doesn't owe me his back story. And I know I'm being stupid about Jamie getting closer to him than me, especially because she's _married_ and it's preposterous to even _think_ there's _anything_ between them.

But it still _hurts_. And I can't explain why.

"Stacey, you're doing it again," Keith complains after five whole seconds pass without me saying anything. He throws a marshmallow, which hits Stacey right in the middle of her forehead. "Stop being nosey. That's like your fifth mocha latte, finish it and go home before Richard notices I'm giving out drinks for free."

Stacey sticks her tongue out at Keith, but drains her latte and stands up. She has a line of foam on her upper lip when she puts the cup down and she absentmindedly runs her tongue over it.

"Okay, I'm out," Stacey announces, hitching her handbag higher up on her shoulder. She leans across and pecks a coffee-scented kiss to my cheek. "Chin up, Grace. You and Bernard will fix this soon."

I just arch an eyebrow at Stacey as she leaves.

"She's right though," Keith mentions as we watch Stacey saunter across the street. When I glance at him, he has several marshmallows stuffed into his mouth. "Something happened between you two. You gonna tell me what it was?"

"You gonna tell me how Matthew Peterson almost got Sarah killed?" I counter. Keith's mouth drops open, offering me the oh-so-attractive view of several half-chewed marshmallows.

"Holy shit, you know about that? How'd you find out?"

"Metro Man dropped by one night," I say, then raise my book to smack Keith when an unearthly squeal escapes his lips. "**Just give me a reason, Keith**."

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," Keith yelps, throwing up his hands defensively. I scowl at him, lowering the book.

"So? Why was Sarah with Matthew Peterson anyway? He's an idiot."

Keith shrugs, running his fingers through his hair. "Kids make stupid decisions sometimes. Sarah had just started high school, and the dumbass was the first guy to show interest in her. She was eager to show off. And was too focused on impressing him to realise she was in a dangerous situation. The bridge broke, and…" He hesitates.

"And?" I probe. Keith scowls.

"The dumbass and his idiot friends ran as soon as she fell. Didn't even stick around to _try _and save her." His hand balls into fists and he narrows his eyes. In that moment he looks angry and incensed and _dangerous. _In that moment, he is an older brother who possesses a lethal killing streak. "My sister could have _died_."

"But she didn't," I say firmly, prising apart his fists and entwining my fingers through his. "And Sarah knows better now."

Keith stares at our entwined fingers for a little while, his nostrils flared and his chest tight. Then the anger melts out of his face – but not quite all of it.

"You're right, Grace," Keith says cheerfully, pulling his hands free of mine. "Sarah's fine now. And I idolise the man who's responsible for that. But that kid is still loose on the streets, and that's why I would happily watch him bleed to death in a tank full of sharks."

I gape at Keith for a while, but he's pulled away and is bustling around the espresso machine.

* * *

Ten minutes before the end of mine and Keith's shift, a group of men in suits walk in. Their ties are loosened slightly and they looked weary.

"Long day?" I ask, trying to smile at them. One nods tiredly.

"You could say that. I'll just grab a flat white."

One by one, I take their orders. Right as I'm ringing up the last man's order – c_affé macchiato with skim milk –_ he glances over at his colleagues.

"Do you think we should get Mr Green something?" the man asks in a gruff voice. I stiffen. No way. Are they talking about…?

"What would he even like?" another – _regular Americano _– asks with a raised eyebrow. "He's so prickly…"

"Just get him a flat white," Large Cappuccino With An Extra Shot orders, slapping down a five dollar bill on the counter. Caffé Macchiato With Skim Milk turns back to me.

"Regular flat white then," he orders.

"Bernard doesn't like his coffee like that," I say automatically, then wince when I realise what I just said. The men all turned to stare at me.

"You know Mr Green, then?" Regular Americano asks, looking surprised. I bite my lip and nod.

"H-He's a regular. Sorry, I just…I'll ring up your order."

"No," Regular Americano intercepts, grabbing me by the wrist. He's looking at me curiously. "No, just give us…give us whatever Mr Green always orders. He's been in a foul mood lately. We could use some brownie points with him."

I bite the inside of my cheek to hide my smile and ring up the order.

* * *

"So," Keith says as I change out of my uniform the next morning. We couldn't have even been at work for ten minutes before Megamind got into another battle with Metro Man and knocked out the city's power again. Bad news for anyone needing a coffee – good news for us, since we were allowed to leave early because of it.

"So," I echo wanly. I hear Keith shuffling around on the other side of the toilet door.

"Don't take this the wrong way or anything," Keith says eventually. "But you've been moody as hell since last Monday."

"How am I not supposed to take that the wrong way?" I snap back, slipping my pants down my hips. Keith sighs loudly.

"I'm serious, Grace. I'm trying to help here. What happened between you two?"

I shrug, pulling my shirt over my head and throwing it on top of my stuff. Then I realise Keith can't see me shrug.

"Did you know," I begin, running my fingers through my messy hair, "that Jamie and Bernard know each other?"

There is a long pause and I wait for Keith's answer. Then Keith lets out a deafening screech, throwing himself at the toilet door and heaving himself over the door to gawp at me. "_Are you __**jealous**__?" _

"_Don't look, you dumbass!"_ I shriek back, trying to simultaneously hit him in the face and cover myself up. Keith unhooks himself from the door, but I can see his feet walking back and forth as he paces. As he paces, I slip my jeans and sweater back on. After a long time, Keith stops.

"Grace Ritchi," Keith informs me sombrely. "You are _jealous_."

I slam open the door, stuffing my uniform back into my bag.

"I'm not jealous," I grumble as I push past Keith. He follows me like a bad smell, grinning his head off.

"Nuh uh. Now I _know_ you're jealous."

"I am _not_ jealous!"

"Then I suppose you don't care that they're getting lunch together tomorrow?" Keith asks innocently. I spin around before my mind can catch up.

"Bernard says he always eats lunch in his office!" I argue, then wince when I realise I just gave myself away. "Oops."

Keith grins like a cat that ate the canary. "You're jealous."

"No, I'm not, I just-" I break off, sighing. Why even bother? Keith would never understand. But I try to speak slowly, building my thoughts piece by piece, "I just…I try _so hard_ with Bernard, and I _still_ get days where he shuts himself off from me. But with Jamie…he laughs with her. He gives her encouragement. He actually _responds_ to things she does. How come he doesn't do that with me?"

Keith is silent for a while. Then he slings an arm around my shoulders, squeezing affectionately.

"I think," Keith begins unusually seriously, "we need to pay a visit to my sister."

* * *

Jamie apparently has a thing for eyes.

As Keith leads me through the house – neat and pristine and everything Keith's isn't – I crane my neck to take in the numerous drawings of eyes. Most are done in only pencil, but some have been coloured in. I eye a nearby one in interest. It's been coloured in a haze of rainbow. No way has she ever seen anyone with _rainbow-_

Wait, are those my eyes?

I gawk at another set of eyes on the wall, but Keith finally arrives at Jamie's studio and cheerfully pushes the door open. Jamie is inside, a half-formed hunk of clay in front of her. As we watch, she smooths and shapes parts dexterously. Occasionally she'll stop and pick up a clay-encrusted pencil and doodle something on a sketchpad beside her. The whole process is strangely poetic and I'm loathe to interrupt her.

Then Keith thunders, "_Jamie! We've come to pay you a visit!"_and the illusion is shattered.

"Oh, Keith!" Jamie exclaims, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand and smearing clay across her skin. It stands out sharply against her skin; dusky red against creamy white. "Grace! What are you two doing here?"

"Grace wanted to talk to you," Keith says nonchalantly, apparently already growing bored with his sister. "Do you have Nutella?"

"In the cupboard," Jamie answers and Keith is gone before we can even blink. Jamie looks curiously at me and gestures to a paint-speckled seat. "Please, sit down. What did you need to talk to me about?"

I fumble awkwardly, then fall silent. Jamie understands, mercifully.

"Bernard?"

I nod, embarrassed. Well, guess we can cross 'mysterious' off my list of qualities. "How do you know him?"

Jamie smiles sympathetically, using her wrist to push her glasses further up her face. "I work for the local elementary school and occasionally we'll bring our art classes to museums. I've also donated a couple paintings to the museum. It wasn't really doing very well."

No surprise there. Doesn't seem to have ever been doing well. "Then…how long have you known him for? You seemed close." _And how can I get that close?_

Jamie shrugs, swiping at her cheek and smearing _more_ clay on it. "I think for about as long as he's been curator. I knew the one before him too. He was a nice guy but he retired." She pauses and eyes me in amusement. "Did you just visit me to ask about him?"

I blush. There's not even any point in denying it. "Shamefully, yes. Do you…know anything about his life before Metro City?"

It sort of feels like cheating to find out about him before he tells me himself. I had been managing to ease bits out slowly over the weeks, but I'm growing tired of the game and sort of just want to know everything about him.

"Not much," she says apologetically. "I know he's not close to his family. Except for his grandparents, he's mentioned them once or twice."

"His grandparents?" I repeat, pouncing on the information. "What's he said?"

"Little things, mainly," Jamie answers, looking down at her paper and starting to draw. I watch as she scrawls looping grey lines across the page. "Like his granddad used to go fishing with him, his grandma's favourite food was bacon and eggs because they were rationed when she was growing up…stuff like that. I _have_ seen a picture of them though. Here, they look sort of like this."

I accept the drawing that Jamie hands me and look at it. It isn't quite complete, but I can definitely pick out features that they share with Bernard. Nothing more than the granddad's nose and the grandma's chin though.

"Paternal or maternal?" I ask, staring at the paper. Jamie shrugs.

"Not sure. He never told me."

I nod silently, drinking in the sparse details of the drawings. Jamie sits back and watches me. Then after a long time, she breaks the silence.

"Hey, Grace? He really does try, you know."

I blink in surprise, glancing up. "Sorry, what? We're talking about the same Bernard, right?"

Jamie smiles a little, but presses on. "Bernard finds it hard to connect with people on principle. If he's accepted your presence for this long…it means he's accepting you as part of his life."

"And I suppose that's what happened to you," I return bitterly, letting the paper float to the tabletop and crossing my arms over my chest.

"Of course," Jamie says – matter-of-factly, like it should be obvious. She looks completely unashamed. "I persisted after him until he finally realised he needed my business. Eventually, he just…realised that maybe it wasn't all bad, having human company." She finally hesitates then, fidgeting uncomfortably. "Grace…he's lonely. For such a long time, he's been so lonely."

I turn away and look stubbornly out the window. The garden outside is lush and beautiful, and I focus on a rose bush to keep myself detached from the conversation. "Well, I can't try forever. If he wants me in his life, he has to let me in. I-I mean…you know about his _family_. I didn't even know his job!" Despite my best efforts, my voice cracks.

Jamie sits back and looks at me in an almost pitying manner.

"He's a hard one to love," Jamie agrees softly after a while. "But, Grace…he needs it. Needs you. I know it's hard, but…well, the lack of love in his life has made him close up. I think a girl like you could break through his shell, don't you?"

I'm silent. My throat actually _hurts_ – it feels like there's a lump in it, making swallowing painful. I focus on the rose bush outside intently, trying to compose myself. I just _can't_, because Jamie is claiming that he needs me, but Bernard has never even shown signs of _wanting _me. And how can she think that I can _help?_

And then the door to Jamie's art studio is slamming open, and Keith is bellowing, "_Jamie, you're out of Nutella!"_

"I just bought some!" Jamie exclaims, jumping out of her chair. Keith shrugs and grabs me by the wrist. I let him pull me up and tug me through the door.

"Whatever, whatever, we have Nutella at home. I'll see you later. Say hi to Pippy and Ron for me."

"Bye, Keith," Jamie offers, but Keith is already propelling me through the house. The eyes watch me as I go, and they're the only things that do.

* * *

The next morning is quiet in the Bean Baby, but outside people mill around on the sidewalk. Life has already moved on for the citizens of Metro City like it always does after Megamind's failed schemes. I finish ringing up a customer's order, then pick up my book again and continue reading.

"Haven't you already read that book?" Keith queries in bewilderment as he pours a mint frappe into a cup. I glance up and raise an eyebrow at him.

"What's your point?" I ask. Keith rolls his eyes and slides the frappe over.

"Nothing, nothing at all."

I serve the customer his frappe then return to my book. Except then Keith has his hand splayed over the pages. I look up to spit something rude at him, but trail off when I realise he isn't even _looking_ at me.

"Look, a thing's happening outside," Keith muses, jerking his head at the door. I look over, shrugging when I don't see anything out of the ordinary.

"You're hallucinating, Keith."

"No, there really is!" Keith insists, pulling my book away from me. "I swear! Just go look."

I debate hitting Keith until he gives me back my book, then decide just to play along with it since it _is_ pretty quiet in the Bean Baby. I swing over the counter and make my way out the cafe.

"Keith's crazy," I mumble half-heartedly, glancing around the sidewalk. People are parting to walk around me, but otherwise everything's calm. I sigh and decide to return.

"Talking to yourself is considered the first sign of insanity, you know."

My heart drops. I turn around.

"Bernard."

Bernard tilts his head in acknowledgement to me. He's just as I remember him – cheap suit, messy hair and all.

"Miss Ritchi," he says. His voice is cool and impassive, but I think I detect an undertone of mockery. "Hard at work as ever, I see."

"Mr Green," I return equally impassively. "Don't you have a job you should be at?"

"Don't you?" Bernard counters, arching an eyebrow at me. Despite myself, I scowl.

"Keith sent me outside to check something out." And there wasn't even _anything._ Last time I listen to him.

"I see you're still unusually attached to Keith," Bernard comments, the slightest humourless smirk touching his lips. "I assume you still share his room suspiciously often?"

I frown at Bernard, not caring for the insinuations behind his words. "Not that it's any of your business, but yes."

"Well, I'm sure you must enjoy it," Bernard says dispassionately, turning away. "Then I'll leave you to your devices."

"And I'll leave you to your empty office," I retort, trying to quell the flicker of anxiety in me at the sight of Bernard turning away. Bernard pauses then; stops to look slightly over his shoulder at me. He opens his mouth to say something, his brow furrowed in…perplexity?

And then someone is shouting, "_Bernard! Bernard, you forgot your book!"_

We look up. Well, I look up. Bernard closes his eyes, then opens them again.

"_Jamie_," he groans in a pained voice. And sure enough, there she is – waving a giant, hardcover book at us from the middle of a crowded street. She lowers the book and waves cheerfully at us. I wave hesitantly back, then blink when I recognise the book.

"Hey, isn't that the book I was supposed to lend you?" I ask in confusion.

"So what if it is?" Bernard snaps back touchily. Jamie dodges people cheerfully, until she's standing in front of us.

"Hi, Grace!" Jamie greets me happily, then turns to Bernard and holds out the book. "You left this in my car. I thought you'd want it back."

"Why didn't you just leave it in my office?" Bernard snaps at her. Jamie shrugs and places the book on a nearby table.

"Oh, I didn't come here for that. I'm here to force you and Grace to talk to each other."

I actually stop at that to turn those words over in my mind. Then I stupidly blurt out, "_What?"_

"Jamie!" Keith cheers, the cafe door clicking shut behind him. "You came!"

"Okay, what the hell is going on here?" I demand. Bernard pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales loudly.

"I don't have time for this," he announces, reaching for his book. "I'm going back to work."

It's actually a little scary how quickly Keith reacts to this. Before I can even blink, there's a bracelet of silver encircling Bernard's wrist. We all stare at it for a moment. Then Keith yanks on the other handcuff and Bernard staggers as Keith cuffs him to a streetlamp.

"You've actually gone insane," Bernard informs Keith, eerily calm. I snicker at Bernard. But before I can laugh too much, something cold is wrapped around my wrist. The other handcuff clicks shut around Bernard's.

"Oh my Christ, Keith, I'm going to kill you," I snarl, staring at the shackles binding Bernard and I to the streetlamp.

* * *

**I'M SORRY FOR THE WAIT. After the fight I realised they would actually have to make up and I didn't know how to do that? But I made this chapter longer than usual to make up for the wait, so I hoped you enjoyed!**

**So since people actually showed interested in my Rise of the Guardians fanfiction (and if anyone hasn't watched it yet, you totally should since it's out on DVD now!), I have decided to post my Bunnymund/OC story. It'll be a while though, just while I churn out a few chapters and shuffle around the plot structure. The title and summary is on my profile.**


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything except my OC's.**

* * *

My glare must be particularly homicidal even for me, because Keith takes a step back and pushes Jamie in front of him. She looks a little bemused, but rolls with it.

"_Before you kill me," _Keith begins hurriedly as I yank on my chain impatiently. "Just hear me out! You two have been acting like complete nut jobs without each other. It's driving everyone _insane."_

I glance at Bernard curiously. Was Bernard really affected by my leaving? If so, he doesn't show it. He looks more irritated about the handcuffs than anything.

"You're mistaken," Bernard says stonily. He tries to cross his arms over his chest – I'm sure more from instinct than anything – but stops when he remembers about the handcuffs. "I'm only stressed about my transition to the Metro Man Museum. Which is why I need to get back, so if you'd be so kind as to _unlock me_-"

"Sorry, Bernie, no can do!" Keith says, a little more cheerful with only one person trying to kill him. "You guys aren't going anywhere until you kiss and make up."

I lunge at Keith to knock the self-righteous grin off his face, but my handcuff jerks me back before I can reach him.

"Excuse me, is everyone okay here?"

I turn around and nearly sag in relief when I see a policeman looking at us in bewilderment. _Thank Christ_.

Then before I can plead for help, Keith cuts in smoothly. "Sorry, officer, just a romantic comedy in progress."

The policeman's eyebrows practically fly into his hairline. If I thought he looked bewildered before, now he looks absolutely baffled. "_What?"_

Keith places a hand sombrely on his shoulder and turns to us. "You see, _he_-" Keith points to Bernard. "-and _her_-" Keith points to me. "- were in a…well, a friends-with-benefits relationship. But alas, in their time together, they fell in love! He confessed his love to her, but she was still hurting from the last time she was in love, and was scared of her feelings. She rejected him out of fear and fled. But…well, the two of them have been absolutely miserable without each other. So we're handcuffing them to the pole until they finally admit their feelings together."

"Keith, you _stupid_-" I hiss venomously, but Keith waves his hand dismissively to me.

"No, no, Grace, I know you swore you'd never trust a man again after Barry, but I really think that you _need_ to just admit that you have fallen in love with Bernard."

I turn to the policeman incredulously, then groan when I see him. He has both hands slapped over his mouth and I swear to god he's about to start _crying_.

"O-Of course," the policeman blubbers inelegantly, nodding furiously. I glance around anxiously, feeling like screeching when I see that more than a few passersby are equally sucked into Keith's _stupid_ story. The policeman backs away and even begins to herd people away from us so that Bernard and I can have a little privacy.

"No wonder you idiots all depend on Metro Man so much," I spit out, but Keith doesn't even flinch at my hostile tone and just grins, rocking back on his heels.

"Well, I'm sure you two have a lot to talk about!" Keith says cheerfully. He begins backing away with Jamie, leaving the key to the handcuffs on a nearby table. "I'll let you two lovebirds have your time together…I'll give you some food or water when you two make up."

"I'll give you a _concussion_ unless you unlock me," I snap at his back, but Keith only waves cheerfully and ducks back into the Bean Baby.

* * *

After the first hour, we lose around half of our audience. The rest take up residence in the surrounding cafes, or sit at bus stations. After the second hour, someone approaches with two bottles of water.

"I met my girlfriend the same way you two met," the man tells us sombrely, setting the water bottles in front of us. After the first twenty minutes, we had slowly sunk down further on the streetlight until we were both sprawled on the pavement.

"And I'm sure that relationship will go far," Bernard bites out chillingly. The man cowers back and slinks off.

Everyone seems to give up after the third hour. I'm not even sure where _Keith_ is. The bottles of water lay empty on the pavement in front of us, and my stomach is growling so loudly that I'm surprised Bernard isn't making snarky comments about it. But then again, that may be because Bernard has given up on anything but hitting the handcuff chains with a rock he found nearby.

Eventually he gives up on that, too.

"He's your friend, why can't _you_ convince him to let us out?" Bernard snaps, dropping the rock into the road. I barely look at him, keeping my gaze fixed on the book sitting on the table.

"He's your friend too. Even if you haven't been acting like it lately."

Bernard grunts, casting an almost forlorn glance at the rock in the street. "He doesn't care. People like him can find and drop friends in the blink of an eye."

I blink and finally look at Bernard. Was that bitterness I heard in his voice?

"I disagree," I announce, letting my hand loll uselessly in the handcuff. "Keith is a great friend, when he isn't cuffing me to streetlights. And more importantly, he's _your _friend too."

Bernard makes a sceptical little noise of dissent, but doesn't say anything. After a little while, I break the silence.

"As is Jamie, apparently," I venture cautiously and a little accusingly. Bernard's forlorn looks at the rocks begin to gather suicidal connotations, but he drags his gaze reluctantly to me.

"She's alright," Bernard says grudgingly. Then because Bernard voluntarily offering compliments is probably a sign of the apocalypse, he sarcastically says, "I seem to have a habit of picking up parasites."

I brush off the snark, because it's _Bernard_ and I'm _me_ and I'm so used to it it's beyond ridiculousness. "Just alright? Because it seemed like you two were _really_ close."

"You're imagining things," Bernard says shortly. I shake my head. All the anger that had bled out from me over the past two weeks has come back in full force and my hands are shaking slightly. I clench them into fists and look up at Bernard.

"No, Bernard, I'm really not. You actually _enjoy_ her company. You're tolerating her presence in a manner you never have towards me. And…" I hesitate, feeling my throat close up. _And I feel like I've been wasting my time with you. Like every step I thought was a victory turned out to be a laughably pathetic attempt._

It's silent, then Bernard offers warily, "She's more annoying than you."

When Bernard had insulted Roxanne and complimented me in the same move, I had been pleased. But when he does it to Jamie, it just makes the fire inside me burn hotter.

"Don't. Lie," I hiss through clenched teeth, clenching my fists so tightly that I feel pinpricks of pain in my palms. "Bernard, I _know_ you're close to Jamie. And you can't keep thinking that it's okay to compliment me by insulting someone else! Because when you do that…that isn't really a compliment. And if it is, I don't want it."

"_Then what do you want_?" Bernard snaps with a voice tinged with desperation. I glance at him in surprise. With the frustration on his face and the way he runs his fingers through his hair, this is the most emotion I've gotten from him in a while. "I don't understand you, Grace Ritchi! Y-You…you make me think I just don't understand _people_ in general! Why are you so angry? What did I do wrong?"

It's silent for long time as I stare at Bernard. I hadn't realised that Bernard had been so affected by my anger. Or that he was so oblivious to the reason.

"Bernard…" I begin weakly, shaking my head. "You really have to understand…I thought we were making progress. Our entire friendship started by you mocking me. You still do it. You're doing it less, but you're still _doing it. _And I'm fine with _some_ mocking, but…once I saw you with Jamie, it made me see that you really could have meaningful, encouraging relationships. And, Bernard, it just makes it look like I haven't gotten anywhere with you at all!"

Bernard is flushed from anger, but he's quickly calming down as he runs his fingers through his hair. He does it often when he's stressed, I notice.

"How long have we known each other?" Bernard asks abruptly. I blink in surprise.

"I-I'm not sure. A couple of months, I guess?"

"I've known Jamie for seven years," Bernard continued. His eyes are neither enraged nor dejected, but…softened? "I didn't want her around me at first, but she just kept clinging on. A little like you, I suppose. And eventually I realised that I needed her around, so…" Bernard trails off, lowering his gaze from mine. "I just…I needed to play nice."

My lips part and I cock my head at Bernard. "Is that Bernard speak for 'I need you too'?"

"You flatter yourself," Bernard says coolly, but his ears are turning red and he's suddenly looking anywhere but me. "I needed Jamie because she contributed art to the museum and knew the workings of the museum better than I did. I don't depend on _you_ for anything."

"Coffee," I point out smarmily. Bernard's lips twitch in that almost smile he's doing more and more often around me.

"Of course," he says so seriously that I know he's being sarcastic. "If you were to return to your parents, I'd have nowhere to get my coffee from. Metro City would descend into chaos."

I grin, leaning forward to tap Bernard on his nose. "And don't you forget it."

My motion startles Bernard so much that he jerks back almost instinctively, then yelps when he tumble off balance. The chain of his handcuffs – already weak from all the abuse it had taken from the rock – snaps almost pathetically easily, and Bernard plummets onto the road. He looks almost childishly confused as blinks at me bewilderedly from the road. But his bout of childlike confusion only lasts for a moment, then Bernard snaps back to attention and struggles to his feet. He steps back onto the pavement and for a moment I almost think he's going to leave me chained to the pole. But he only keeps walking and picks up the key, then turns back and unlocks me.

"The museum's taking everything out of storage for one last week before they close," Bernard tells me, offering me a hand. "Would you like to see?"

I stare up at Bernard, the sun making a halo around his silhouette. His eyes are searching my face tentatively, and I have a feeling there's another meaning underlying his words.

I slip my hand into his and let him pull me to my feet.

"Mr Green," I tell him seriously. "I would be honoured."

* * *

I don't go back to Keith's for dinner that night, but eight o'clock doesn't find me sitting opposite Roxanne either. No, come eight o'clock Bernard and I are huddled over a menu at an Italian restaurant.

"I want _this_ and _this_," I announce, tracing a line between 'gnocchi' and 'carbonara'. Bernard squints at the menu (upside down from his point of view, him being the…_gentleman_ he is).

"You won't be able to finish that," Bernard tells me bluntly. "Just order spaghetti."

"You let me worry about that," I assure him smugly, patting his hand. Bernard rolls his eyes, but when the waiter comes, he lets me order without any protest.

"So, Mr Big-Shot-Curator," I say, nudging his shin with the toe of my shoe. "Once the museum opens, do I get free entrance to everything?"

Bernard barely reacts to my nudge and only looks at me like I have my head on backwards. "The museum is free entrance anyway."

I sigh loudly, rolling my eyes. "Yeah, yeah. I meant for the _special_ exhibits. You know, like the ones you have to pay extra to get in?"

"Why would you even want to?" Bernard counters – rightly so, of course. He knows of my hatred of all things Metro Man. "You don't even like him."

"Well, no," I concede. "But I've never had a curator friend before. I want all the benefits!"

Bernard rolls his eyes. "What benefits? It's just the Metro Man Museum." Way to kill a mood, Bernard.

"Good to see you're as excited for this as ever," I mock, leaning back as a waiter comes with two glasses of diet coke for Bernard and I. Bernard raises his glass mockingly to me in a toast.

"To my newest parasite," he mocks. I match his half-hearted sneer with a smirk and clink my glass against his.

"To my newest host," I return lightly. We drink with our gazes locked, and there's the faintest pressure against my leg from where Bernard is leaning.

* * *

He walks me home. Surprising, giving that _I_ still don't know where he lives. But he assures me buses in Metro City run until way past midnight.

"Will I see you again tomorrow?" I ask when we reach my apartment. Carlos is sheltering inside from the cold night air and stands when he sees me, but I make a fluttery _STOP_ motion with my fingers and he sits again, eyeing me curiously.

Bernard raises an eyebrow. "Most likely. I need coffee, after all."

Not enough to come visit me while being huffy, evidently. I bob my head awkwardly in a nod anyway.

"Right. Cool. I guess I'll…I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

"Of course," Bernard says, and right when I think I'm the only one finding this awkward, Bernard pats my shoulder hesitantly. _Pats_ my _shoulder_. Who does that? Bernard evidently is thinking the same way, because he suddenly looks like he's swallowed something sour. "My apologies. I don't know why I-"

But he breaks off when I hug him. And not the affectionate, boisterous way Keith and I hug each other – all flinging arms and almost-tackles. No, this is a little more…_intimate._ I slink my arms around his waist and hug gently, regretting it almost as soon as I do it. But then I find it hard to regret my actions when Bernard's arms settle around me, hugging me just as softly.

I pull back regretfully after a moment, my beam at Bernard coming surprisingly easily to my lips.

"I'll see you tomorrow!" I say cheerfully, and then I'm off so fast that not even Carlos is quick enough to open the door for me.

* * *

**I think this is the first chapter in a while that hasn't ended on a cliff hanger. And as to why the handcuffs broke so easily…I imagine that they're probably some cheap-y ones that Keith got from a dollar store. Or a sex store. (A sex store seems more likely.)**

**Also my Rise of the Guardians fic is up! It was a great movie, I really can't recommend it highly enough! And it's on DVD now, so everyone who hasn't already should go watch it :) What other movies are coming out that I'm looking forward to? Despicable Me 2, definitely. I haven't even watched it and I already ship Gru and Lucy.**


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything except my OC's.**

**I am so, so sorry about the wait, you guys! I'd like to say I have a good excuse, but honestly I just sort of lost inspiration for the story. On the upside, thanks to my lovely reviewers urging me to update, I think I've sort of regained my groove. Hopefully updates will be faster in the future!**

* * *

"And you're sure you didn't have sex?" Keith asks for the twelfth time as I warm up my hands on the espresso machine. I roll my eyes, because what the hell am I even supposed to say to that?

"_Yes,_ Keith, I'm sure. I'm pretty sure I'd have noticed if I did."

"Because I called Carlos last night-" Keith began.

"Why do you have my doorman's number?"

"-and he said you didn't get home until midnight. What were you doing out until midnight?"

"Bernard and I were just having dinner," I say loftily, crossing my arms over my chest. "Nothing wrong with that, is there?"

Keith looks strangely disappointed for a moment, then pouts childishly before I can quiz him on it. "You guys had dinner? Why didn't you invite me?"

"You chained us to a _pole_," I snap testily at him, glowering at the reminder. "You're lucky neither of us punched you."

"You did," Keith points out – obnoxiously right, as always. But I grin at the memory.

"Yeah. It felt good."

Keith sniffs daintily, turning away. "You're just jealous you didn't ruin my pretty face. _One_ of us has to have looks, you know."

And how else can I respond to that but punch him again?

* * *

Despite that the fact that it feels like it's almost subzero weather today, when Bernard enters his jacket is nowhere in sight and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbow. I glance at him a little longer than probably necessary, then smile when I notice his hair is messier than usual and damp with sweat.

"Get me my usual, but make it cold," Bernard orders, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. I smirk and begin punching in buttons on the cash register.

"Only because you're so charming. Why are you all sweaty?"

"Helping move the museum exhibits around," Bernard answers as Keith fills a cup up with ice. "We're short on people, so they've roped all the staff into helping."

"Why are _you_ helping?" Keith butts in. Bernard only gives him a frigid look then ignores him completely and turns back to me. Ouch. Guess Bernard's still mad at Keith.

"When do you get off work?" Bernard queries instead, sliding money across the counter to me. I pull a face as I open the cash register, counting out his change.

"Not until three. It'll be a butt to work until then in this weather." I pause, something occurring to me as I glance at him. "…Why? Is that your way of asking if I'm free?"

I'm almost hopeful, until Bernard gives me a bland stare. "No. I was going to ask if you could come over and help. I have paperwork I need to do."

Right. Silly me. Of course Bernard wouldn't want to spend more time around me than necessary. I feel oddly disappointed.

"And here is Mr Museum's ice coffee!" Keith announces cheerfully – and _loudly; _several customers look up in bewilderment – as he slides Bernard's order across. Bernard takes it without even deigning to look at Keith and tips his head at me in goodbye. I tilt my head morosely as he leaves, fascinated with the way his work shirt skims down his lean torso until it meets the waistline of his pants. How is he even so…_slender_ for a guy? And how does his work shirt serve to emphasise and flaunt that so much?

I don't realise I'm staring until I turn away and see that Keith is watching me in fascination, leaning his elbow heavily on the counter and resting his chin in the palm of his hand. I blink, unnerved, at Keith.

"W-What?"

"I never knew you could do that!" Keith says brightly, heaving himself off the counter. I crinkle my nose at him.

"Do what?"

Keith's beam is bright and innocent. "Both check someone out and look like they killed your puppy." His words are so cheerful and casual that they don't actually sink in for several long moments. Then I whirl back, spluttering and protesting.

"N-No way! I wasn't checking out _Bernard! _Bernard's a friend."

"I check out friends all the time," Keith scoffs like it's a completely normal thing to say.

"Even me?" I ask – just out of curiosity! Honest. Keith snickers anyway.

"No way, Museum Girl. _You_ have been bro-zoned. I do it to all co-workers the moment I meet them."

Hm. Fair enough.

"But Bernard's not a co-worker," Keith continues blithely, his grin turning into a pointy smirk. "And _you_, dear girl, were _definitely_ checking our Mr Museum out."

"Shut up, I was not," I say – very convincingly, I'm sure. I turn back around, busying myself by wiping down the counter. "I just…I've never seen him so…_casual_. Remember even when we got ice cream he was wearing a suit?"

Keith snorts in appreciation, recalling the memory. "Oh yeah. Good times. Until I suffered damage to my reproductive organs, that is."

"It was an accident!" I protest, but my mouth twitches in a grin as I remember the expression on Keith's face. "I bought you an ice cream, anyway."

Keith huffs at me, turning to fuss around with the espresso machine to make himself a coffee. "You're violent, Museum Girl."

"Ouch, Keithie," I deadpan, glancing out the window one last time. Bernard is nowhere in sight anymore, and I tear my gaze away again. "Cuts like a knife."

Stupid Keith. Stupid Bernard. I sigh, Bernard's lean figure flickering in my mind again. I push it out of my thoughts and resume wiping down the counter with renewed fervour.

Stupid Grace.

* * *

The next morning when I wake up, there are voices echoing around the apartment. At first I think nothing of it – Roxanne works from home a _lot_, and often she'll have co-workers or sources with her. So I just snuggle deeper into my blankets, savouring the blissful start to my day off.

Then I realise I recognise the other voice.

"Oh, hi, Grace!" Roxanne says cheerfully when I come flying out of my room and into the kitchen. She beams innocently at me, a cup of coffee in her hands. "I made waffles. Did you want some?"

"N-No," I say, still staring in bewilderment. Roxanne frowns.

"Are you sure? There's still plenty, and they're still warm."

"Do it, Museum Girl," Keith says with a mouthful of butter-and-syrup-coated waffles. He chugs down a glass of orange juice, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "They're so good, dude. I'd sell my soul to wake up to these every day."

"What the hell are you doing here?" I snap, finally breaking out of my shock. Keith grabs his heart.

"Ouch, Museum Girl. Cuts like a knife. I just came by to see you, until I met your charming older sister." He winks at Roxanne, who laughs and turns a little pink. I think I nearly vomit.

"Well, I'm here now," I point out in irritation, putting my hands on my hips. "What did you want?"

Keith spears a chunk of waffle and stuffs it into his mouth. Classy. "Lynette's giving a guest lecture at the college and I thought we could tag along and heckle her or something."

"That's so mean, Keith."

"Whatever. You in?"

"Definitely."

* * *

Roxanne enters the bathroom while I'm getting ready for the day.

"So that was Keith," Roxanne says slowly, teasingly. I roll my eyes and continue scrubbing shampoo into my hair.

"Yeah? What of it?"

"He seems nice," Roxanne says as she perches on the edge of my sink. Her voice still has that light, teasing tone to it, much to my frustration.

"Yeah? So?"

"He seems like he's good for you," Roxanne continues. "Unlike-" She breaks off, but it's too late. The air between us suddenly grows cold.

I peel back the side of the shower curtain and narrow my eyes at her. "This is about Bernard, isn't it?"

Roxanne neither confirms nor denies my accusation. She wraps her arms around herself, avoiding my gaze. "I'm just saying, Grace…Keith is much more suitable for you, even as a friend."

"Why?" I ask chillily, letting the shower curtain fall shut again and crossing my arms over my chest. "Because I'm a sarcastic bitch and he isn't?"

"That isn't what I meant-"

"No, I know what you meant," I say softly. Any light or fluffy feelings have been drained from the air, leaving an empty coldness in its place. "I need to get ready now, Roxanne."

"Of course," Roxanne says quietly. I see her shadow fall from the shower curtain as she crosses back to the door. "I'll leave you to it."

I wait until she's gone, then lean against the wall of the shower and exhale deeply.

* * *

"So your sister seems nice," Keith says as he zips along the highway. I grunt unenthusiastically and continue flipping through a car parts catalogue I found in the glove compartment. "You know, she's nowhere near as bad as you made her out to be. She beats Stacey on a bad day by a long shot."

"She's freaking famous, you'd hate her for a sibling too," I snap at Keith, throwing the catalogue down and glowering at him.

"For Christ's sakes, Grace, she's a news reporter, not a Hollywood big shot. You're blowing it out of proportion."

"You wouldn't understand," I say gloomily, bringing my knees up to my chest and slouching down in the seat. "I mean, look at _your_ sisters. Each and every one of them are…well…" _Perfectly imperfect._

At first, there is silence. Then Keith starts wriggling in his seat, shifting his hips so that they're tilted towards me. "Quick, grab my phone!"

I eye Keith in a mixture of bewilderment and distaste, then bite back my disgusted mutters and gingerly reach for his back pocket. His phone is poking half-out of it, so thankfully I don't have to grope him any more than necessary.

"Open up the contacts list and call Bernard," Keith orders, resuming his normal sitting position. I stare at him flatly.

"What."

"Just do it, Museum Girl," Keith insists as he turns to look at me, before hurriedly straightening when I screech at him to _keep his freaking eyes on the road!_

"Fine," I say sourly, flipping open the phone and punching in Bernard's name. "You have like twenty missed calls."

"Yeah, that's probably important. Put Bernard on speakerphone when you're done."

I obey him and soon the car is filled with the sounds of a ringing phone. After the third ring, Bernard answers.

"Berny, man!" Keith says cheerfully, flashing a grin at the phone even though _Bernard can't see him_. Idiot. "Listen, we're gate crashing a lecture at Metro State. Meet us there in fifteen."

"Are you _kidding me?_" Bernard snaps, his voice rising slightly. "I am _working!_ Just because you two aren't disciplined enough to retain a full-time job doesn't mean I have time to gallivant around Metro City."

I roll my eyes at his dramatics, but Keith just smarmily points out, "What are they gonna do, fire you?"

Silence meets his statement.

* * *

Half an hour into the lecture, my phone buzzes in my pocket.

_The bus ran late. I'll be there in five minutes. – Bernard_

I smirk a little and stuff my phone back in my pocket. I return my gaze to Lynette, who still hasn't noticed us sitting at the back of the lecture hall (despite Keith calling up stupid questions every so often) and is continuing her lecture on antibodies and antigens as coolly and calmly as ever. She looks ever the part of the intelligent immunologist; her hair pulled back into a neat, smart ponytail and a pair of thick-rimmed glasses perched on the edge of her nose – glasses which I have literally never seen her wear before.

"What'd he say?" Keith whispered as he scrawls an X in the middle of the grid I had drawn up. I take the pen from him and make an O next to it.

"He'll be here in five," I mutter back. I keep my eyes glued to Lynette, who is outlining the roles and purposes of immunoglobins in the immune system.

"Can't believe he messaged _you_ about it," Keith sniffs mournfully, pouting like a two year old. "I thought we were besties. I was the one who invited him here!"

"Yeah, but you also handcuffed him to a pole," I say, arching my eyebrow at Keith. Keith waves me off, hazardously scrawling an X on the paper.

"Details," Keith mumbles, then pitches his voice lower and calls out, "_How do the antibodies know the difference between normal cells and bad cells? Do they have eyes or something?"_

Lynette peers up, but Keith and I slouch down in our chairs and she backs down again. Bewildered and a wee bit suspicious, Lynette answers slowly, "Well, that's sort of the point of this lecture. On the tips of the glycoproteins are paratopes which the antibody uses to bind to a-"

"But I think there's another reason why he's texting _you_ instead of me," Keith whispers teasingly, handing me the pen and letting me make my move. I drag the pen lightly over the paper, ignoring the insinuations in his words. "C'mon, Museum Girl. You can't deny what is clear to my eyes! I do believe I see the beginnings of love between you and Mr Museum."

"Shut up, Keith," I hiss at him, scratching an O so hard on the paper that I accidentally make a hole. Keith doesn't even seem to notice and takes the pen back, dangling it from his fingertips with a playful grin.

"How adorable," Keith coos mockingly, batting his eyelashes at me. To my irritation, I feel heat rise to my cheeks and I shove him roughly.

"Shut up," I hiss, rising to my feet. "I'm going to wait outside for Bernard."

"No, wait, she'll see you-" Keith protests in a hushed, horrified whisper, but it's too late. I've set off for the lecture theatre's doors and Lynette cuts off mid-sentence to gawp at me. She spins around and glowers at Keith, realisation tinting her expression.

Outside, the halls are relatively quiet. There's only the odd student who came to take advantage of the quietness and multitude of free power sockets, so I manage to sink into an abandoned plush couch facing a window and close my eyes. It's…strange, to say the least, being back at college. And different – if any of my lecturers had been like Lynette or my classmates like Keith, I would never have left college.

Just when I'm considering contacting my parents and asking to study at Metro State instead, I hear a mocking, drawling voice ask, "Shouldn't you be in a lecture?"

My eyelids fly open and I startle upright – only to see Bernard standing over me with an arching eyebrow. I smile bashfully, brushing my hair out of my face and straightening my jacket.

"Biology isn't really my forte, to be honest. Keith's still inside if you want, though."

Bernard gives me a Look and lowers himself onto the couch next to me. "If biology was my forte, I wouldn't be working in a museum."

Very true. A comfortable silence envelopes us, the sort of silence where words aren't needed – where just each other's presence is enough. The window we're sitting in front of overlooks onto a large, lush courtyard, and I can see students spread out in the sun.

Then Bernard breaks the silence, his words coming out slow and faraway and wistful. "The last time I came here, this building hadn't been built yet."

I glance at Bernard in surprise. "You've been here before?"

Slowly – _difficultly – _Bernard nods. Just when I think that's all I'll get out of him, he continues, "I started my degree of Art History here. It was…different. Nice, I suppose. It was the first time I had lived away from my family, and everything was the opposite of what I expected."

"You said you started your degree here…" I say slowly, squinting at him in confusion. This is the first time Bernard's ever relinquished information on his home life without me needed to probe him, and I'm not about to let the chance to pry go unused. "What happened?"

Bernard shrugs, gazing out the window at the courtyard. "I was young, and someone told me that the University of Metro City was better for historical studies. I wanted the best chance to further my interests so…I transferred to U&M instead."

"And was it?" I ask gently. Bernard lowers his gaze contemplatively to the floor, then shrugs. "Oh. I see. Well, you've managed to score a job at the Metro Man Museum, so it can't have been too bad, right?"

"I…suppose," Bernard says haltingly. He glances at me. "What about _you, _Grace Ritchi? Are you one of those students who claim their college degree is their world?"

A laugh bubbles up in my throat before I can stop it. When Bernard arches an eyebrow at me, I explain, "If you had ever seen my grades, you'd know why that's funny."

Bernard inclines his head as if to say 'Touché'. I glance around the building lobby, rubbing my arms absentmindedly.

"I'll tell you what, though…if I came here to study, I think I'd enjoy it about a thousand times more."

"I suppose the company makes all the difference in the world," Bernard muses absently. When I look over at him, he's gazing out the window, his eyes clouded with an emotion – or perhaps a mixture of emotions – that I can't identify. Though I almost see…wistfulness? Nostalgia?

"Hey, Bernard?" I say without even _thinking._ "Tomorrow's the day Roxanne usually gets kidnapped-"

_Wait, what? What the hell are you doing, Ritchi?!_

"-so the apartment will be kinda lonely."

_No, no, stop! It's not too late to fix this, you haven't-_

"Did you want to-"

_Okay, you can still fix this – whatever you do, just don't say-_

"-come over?"

_Shit!_

* * *

**Keith just strikes me as the sort of person to collect friends wherever. Also ****I've been rereading some of the old chapters and realised often I'm making customers at the Bean Baby order Australian drinks. Oops. Oh well.**

**Anyway, I'm working on the next chapter as of right now. Hopefully it won't take...uh...eight months. In the meantime, my Rise of the Guardians fic is still up and in desperate need of love :)**


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything except my OC's.**

* * *

January 5th: the day that all of our neighbours decided that they hated us.

Roxanne's shriek makes me wince, but I straighten up when she screams, "_I found it!"_

I come running with a bucket. Roxanne is on her hands and knees in front of what I always assumed was a supply closet. Roxanne cracks open the door, revealing a bedroom. Apparently not. I sneak forward, fighting back a shriek of my own when I see the little ball of grey fur. After a moment of careful consideration, I slam the bucket down on the rat, trapping it.

"This is disgusting," I announce, leaning my full body weight on the bucket. My throat is hoarse from all the screaming I've done. "_Rats_? Really, Roxanne? I thought this place was supposed to be the best apartment complex in Metro City!"

"Hey, I never had rats before you came here," Roxanne defends, but I'm looking around the room. It's little. And sparsely decorated. There's only a bed, an old TV and a tiny little table. I didn't even know this was _here_.

"Hey, I didn't know you had another room," I say, turning to her. Roxanne lowers her gaze and her pretty little rosebud mouth turns down sadly.

"This was Vida's room."

It takes me a while to place the name, but once I do I can't believe I forgot the gangly blond girl who frequented my preteen years. "Vida? That girl who didn't have a home?"

"She had a home," Roxanne argues. She sighs. "She was just never at it."

"I didn't know you roomed with Vida," I say, resting my chin in the palm of my hand. I didn't even know she still talked to Vida after she moved during high school. Roxanne smiles wanly.

"We met up during college and just…clicked. So we agreed to move in together."

"You didn't live here in college," I point out, cocking an eyebrow. Roxanne shrugs.

"I know. We lived together for a while. When I became a reporter, we could finally afford to live in an apartment like this. But Vida…" Roxanne hesitates. "She didn't like the idea that I was more…successful than her. We fought and…I haven't seen her since."

"Then why haven't you rented out her room?" I point out. It's nice enough that she can get a good deal for it. Roxanne shakes her head sadly.

"I don't know. I guess I was hoping she'd come back."

I fall silent as I survey my sister. She's tracing the frame of the doorway with the same amount of tenderness one would use on an infant, or a beloved pet. Vida was more than a friend to Roxanne – she was a symbol of Roxanne's childhood, of a time when Roxanne had nothing of adulthood or her future to think about.

But there is something about Roxanne's sad gestures that transcends the loss of an old friend. Big, puffy bags hide poorly beneath concealer and foundation below her lower lids, and my sister's eyes are dull and exhausted. This is not a sadness that has come on from a spontaneous reminder of her past – not in the slightest.

"We should go release the rat outside," Roxanne says finally, breaking me out of my thoughts. She pushes herself to her feet, brushing her exercise-tousled hair out of her face. "We still have the rest of the apartment to clean. Why the sudden cleaning spree, anyway?"

"Uh – no reason," I say haltingly, trying – and failing – to conceal my wince as I force my mind away on my impending visitor. "Just thinking…now that I have friends-" Or friend. Singular. "-I can't entertain them in a pigsty. And we don't have maids here, after all."

Roxanne sends me a curious, slightly unconvinced look. "Fine. If you say so. I'm going to go find a plank or something to help us move the rat into the bucket."

I watch Roxanne as she dolefully exits the room. I wait until she leaves, then shuffle forwards on my knee and pull out the glinting object which had caught my eye when I entered. It's a worn old book – and when I open the book to the first page, I find two words printed neatly in fluorescent green ink.

_Vida Scardina_

Now who knew that Roxanne's old best friend was a bookworm?

* * *

As expected, Roxanne doesn't come back from releasing the rat. I take advantage of the now-empty apartment and soak in Roxanne's Jacuzzi, then dry off and change into my cleanest outfit. After pottering around the apartment nervously for the better part of two hours, I force myself to sit down and stare out the window.

And then I hear it.

_Knock knock knock._

Three simple knocks. So unfailingly innocent, and yet it sends my heart stuttering and tripping over itself. _I can do this_, I tell myself sternly as I rise to open the door. I can do this, I can do this, I can _do this_-

"Hey, Museum Girl, I- _Jesus Christ in a bucket!"_

I groan loudly, turning away from the door and aiming an irritated kick at the wall. "Keith, what the _hell_ are you doing here?!"

Keith is still looking around the apartment in a mixture of abject horror and amazement. "That is a _crap ton _of books! How have you not starved to death with all the money you're shovelling into books?"

Deep, calm breaths, Grace. You can do it. Calm, and patience, and above all politeness-

"I'm a little _busy_, Keith," I bite out, trying to force my tone to remain even and controlled. "I'm expecting company soon."

Keith seems to get over himself and grins, shouldering his way past me and strutting into the apartment. A rather large plastic bag dangles from his fingers, swaying precariously as he moves. "Oh, I know _all about_ your little visitor. Which brings me to my next point, are you seriously using all these books for entertainment when he comes over? Who the hell _reads books_ when they go to someone's house?"

I stare coldly at Keith, counting to ten and backwards in my mind. Calm, and patience, and politeness. Calm, patience, politeness. Calm, and patience, and-

"That reminds me," Keith adds, heading towards my kitchen counter. "Brought you a present!"

I eye Keith suspiciously as he moves a pile of books on my kitchen counter and replaces it with the bag. He whips away the bag with a grand flourish, revealing a…cake box. A cake box. Really. Not even lying. With an even grander flourish, Keith flicks open the lid.

Okay, calm and patience and politeness has officially ran out.

"Remove that _thing_ from my apartment," I say coldly, "or you'll be _wearing_ it."

Keith laughs in delight as I eye the cake and its _ridiculous _message – aimed at me or my visitor, I don't know which. Written in large, almost obscenely inappropriately cheerful icing are three very simple words.

_YOU GOT LAID!_

"Aw, c'mon, Museum Girl," Keith jokes, slinking an arm around my shoulders and giving me an affection shake. "After mom did all that pretty icing work and everything!"

My heart stutters to a stop and I spin around to gape in horror at Keith, dread seeping into my very bones. "She didn't."

"Well, Lynette and I did the words," Keith admits bashfully. "But mom did everything else!"

My heart rate subsiding to something more ordinary, I turn back to the cake to contemplate how to best shove it into Keith's face. "Last time I saw Lynette, she was trying to kill you for trolling her lecture."

"Yeah, she did try to drown me a few times when we got home," Keith says cheerily, still admiring his handiwork on the cake. "Probably going to try again when I come home today. Speaking of! I should leave now."

"Keith, you little _shit_-" I hiss, but Keith dances out of my reach when I try to grab his sleeve.

"Now, now, little one!" Keith admonishes as though I'm five years old. "Play nice at your play date today, okay? And use protection!"

"_Keith -_" I begin irately, but with a loud kiss to my cheek, Keith is shamelessly strutting to the door. The doorbell rings when Keith's hand is scarcely an inch from the doorknob, and he flings the door open. An even smugger – if possible – grin breaks through on Keith's lips, but thankfully he just slides past Bernard without further comment. Thank god for that.

"_Use protection!"_ Keith bellows from the end of the corridor. Or not. I spit out a suggestion of where he can shove his stupid protection, then yank Bernard into the apartment and slam the door shut.

"That was strange, even for him," Bernard notes impassively as we enter the main room. I smile wryly and open my mouth to comment, but my words cut off in a strangled gasp when I see I've left the cake box open on the counter. I shove Bernard away and lunge forward, practically _slamming_ the lid down on the cake box. "And that was strange, even for you."

"Strange day all around," I say brightly – too brightly, because Bernard eyes me in a manner that suggests he's questioning my sanity. I quickly change the topic. "What's in the bag?"

Bernard blinks and looks down at the bag dangling from his hand as though he'd forgotten all about it. Wordlessly, he opens it.

"_Books!" _I squeal in delight, darting over and peering into the bag. Old books too, by the looks of it. The kind swimming with silverfish and coated in dust and thinner than _onion skin_.

"The museum closed down today," Bernard explains as I paw through the bag, trying to make out the titles on the worn, tattered spines. "As curator, I had to find a place for the books. I thought…you above anyone else would appreciate the knowledge these books had to offer. These are only a select few, but-"

"Oh my gosh, I've heard of this doctor!" I exclaim excitedly, pulling out a book. "He was a pioneer in the field of Indigenous Australian artefacts!" Mainly because he was the first to actually _ask_ the Indigenous Australians, but whatever.

"Do you still possess the book on Bronze Age Mesopotamia I was reading last time?" Bernard asks. I nod distractedly, too engrossed in my book to question how Bernard remembers what he was reading from nearly a month ago.

"Yeah, it's…somewhere on the couch…"

Bernard dips his head in acceptance and heads off to locate the book. By the time he returns, I've sunk down against the counter onto the floor, my nose buried in my book.

Bernard doesn't appear to think twice – he pulls up a chair and seats himself so close to me that his knee is close to brushing against my shoulder.

* * *

Time seems to blur as Bernard and I make our way through each other's books. By the time I get up to stretch my sore limbs, hours have passed.

"Eight o'clock," I murmur, furrowing my brow in bemusement at the clock. Wasn't it just a few minutes ago that Keith had come barging in here with that _ridiculous_ cake? How was it dinner time already? What were we even going to _do_ for dinner? "Bernard, can you cook?"

Bernard glances over at me and gives me a deadpan look. "Can a fish skate?"

Fair point. Before I can acknowledge this, the doorbell rings. I frown, putting down my book and picking my way through the room. I open the door, then almost have to muffle a groan.

"Hello, Miss Ritchi!" Minion says cheerfully, holding up a white sock. "You appear to have left a piece of laundry on your doorknob!"

Why do I have a sock on my doorknob, and _how did I forget about Minion?!_

* * *

**Meanwhile, Keith is kicking back and relaxing while Anna lectures him for losing a perfectly good sock.**

**Anyway, there's that! Short but sweet, right? There was another bit of a wait, which I'm sorry about since I promised updates would come faster (though since it took faster than 8 months, I technically wasn't lying) but I was overseas with my friends and lacked time...and computer access to write. I wrote this all in...two, three days? Hopefully the next one will come to me just as quickly ;)**

**Read and review, please! And once again, my ROTG fic is still in need of love!**


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